The Classic Morpurgo Collection. Michael Morpurgo

is happy, I am happy. I sing better when I know Kaspar is happy. This is true. You know how I know he is happy, because he smiled at me this morning. And this he does not do very often, so I know you must look after him very well.”

      I was about to tell her all about Kaspar smiling at me the day before, but she was in full flow and I didn’t dare to interrupt her.

      “Because you make us both so happy, Johnny Trott, I wish to invite you to The Magic Flute, to the opera at Covent Garden. Tomorrow evening. It is the first night. You will come?”

      I was so taken aback I did not even think to thank her. “Me?” I said.

      “Why not? You will sit in the best seat. Dress circle. You are a guest of the Queen of the Night.”

      “I’d really like to, Countess, honest I would,” I told her, “but I can’t. I’ll be working. I don’t finish till ten o’clock.”

      “Don’t worry, I fixed this already with the manager at the hotel,” she said, with an imperious wave of her hand. “I told him you do not work tomorrow, you have the whole day off.”

      “But you’ve got to be smart to go to the opera, Countess.” I said. “I’ve seen all the grand gentlemen and the ladies. I haven’t got the right clothes.”

      “I’ll fix this too, Johnny Trott. You’ll see. I’ll fix everything.”

      And so she did. She hired me a suit to wear – the first proper suit I ever put on. I could hardly believe it when I found myself the next day standing in front of her in her sitting-room, all washed and brushed up, while she adjusted my tie and collar. I remember that I was looking up into her face, and all I wanted to do was to call her “mother”, to hug her tight and never let go.

      She frowned. “Why do you look at me like this, Johnny Trott?” she said. “I think maybe you have tears in your eyes. I like this. You are a boy with feeling, so you will be a man with big heart. Mozart had a big heart, and he was the greatest man who ever lived. A little mad maybe, but I think you have to be a little mad to be great. I love this man. I tell you something, Johnny Trott. I have no son, no husband. I have only Prince Kaspar and my music. But if I had a husband he would be Mozart, and I say something else: if I have a son, I want him to be like you. This is the truth. Now, Johnny Trott, I take your arm, and you will walk me to Covent Garden. Be proud, Johnny Trott. Walk like Kaspar. Walk tall, like you are a Prince, like you are my son.”

      This time when Mr Freddie saw me coming and raised his top hat, there was no mockery in it whatsoever, only open-mouthed astonishment. The Savoy lobby fell silent in utter disbelief as we strode through. I felt about ten feet tall, and that’s how I continued to feel as we made our way up through Covent Garden market to the Royal Opera House.

      I should like to be able to say that I remember every moment, every note of my evening at the opera, but I do not. It passed in a blur of wonderment. I do however have a very clear memory of Countess Kandinsky as she made her first entrance as Queen of the Night, the rapturous applause after every aria she sang, and the standing ovation for her at the final curtain. In fact I was so proud of her, so carried away by it all, that I stuck my fingers in my mouth and gave her the loudest, longest whistle I could, ignoring the disapproving looks all around me. I knew full well it was not the thing to do, but I just didn’t care. I whistled again and again. I stood and clapped until my hands hurt, till the curtain closed for the last time.

      As we walked back to the hotel together later that night I was so laden down with all the flowers she had been given that I could scarcely see in front of me. Kaspar was waiting for us when we got back, yowling around us until I gave him some milk. The Countess went straight to the piano, her hat still on, and began to play softly.

      “This I play every night after the opera, before I go to bed. It is a lullaby by Mozart. It is beautiful, no? Prince Kaspar, he likes this very much.”

      And as if to prove it Kaspar leaped up on to the piano to listen. “Johnny Trott,” she went on, still playing. “Do you think they liked how I sang tonight? You must tell me the truth.”

      “Of course,” I told her. “Didn’t you hear them?”

      “And you, Johnny Trott, do you like how I sing?”

      “I never heard anything so wonderful,” I said, and I meant it.

      She stopped playing and beckoned me over to the piano. She reached up and brushed the hair from my forehead. “You go now, Johnny Trott. It is very late.”

      The next day Mr Freddie and all the others on the servant’s corridor teased me mercilessly. “Who’s a Laadeedaa lad then?” They called after me. “Laadeedaa!” Whatever they said, I didn’t mind. I was on cloud nine. During our walk in the park that morning, I told Kaspar all about my night at the opera, how everyone there had taken the Countess to their hearts, how she would be the talk of London, that he should be very proud of her. When no one was around I even whistled him a snatch of a tune I had remembered, but this did not seem to impress him at all.

      When we came back through the front door half an hour later, I was expecting more of the same banter, more ribbing. I was even looking forward to it. But as I came through the lobby I noticed everyone was behaving very strangely, that they were averting their eyes, obviously not wanting to talk to me. I thought at first they must be angry with me. Mr Freddie came over to me then, and took me gently to one side, to offer me some advice, I thought, something he often did when I’d done something wrong.

      “Best get this over with, Johnny,” he began. “It’s the Countess. She was knocked down an hour or so ago, just outside in the street. An omnibus it was. They say she walked straight out in front of it. Couldn’t have seen it coming. We was all very fond of her, you most of all. Almost like a mother she was to you, wasn’t she? I’m sorry, Johnny. She was a good lady, a fine lady, and a kind one too.”

       A Ghost in the Mirror

      I cried myself to sleep that night. Mr Freddie was right. The Countess had been like a mother to me – not that I knew what a real mother was like, but she was certainly the mother I had always hoped to find. I had found her, and now she was gone. I had lost as well the first real friend I had ever had, the first person who had ever told me they liked me. I cannot tell you how grateful I have always been to her for that. In all my life I have never known anyone whose light shone so brightly, so brilliantly and so briefly. The shock of her death stunned everyone. For days afterwards the whole hotel was plunged into a deep sadness.

      I hate to have to admit it, but to begin with I was too wrapped up in my own grief to notice Kaspar, nor to think very much about him and what would happen to him, now that the Countess was gone. It took Mr Freddie to jolt me out of my self-pity.

      “I’ve been watching you, Johnny lad,” he said to me one evening. “You’ve been moping about the place all day. You’ve got to buck yourself up, you have. It won’t hardly bring her back, will it? And I’m sure it’s not what she would have wanted. You know what she’d have wanted. She’d like for you to go on looking after that cat of hers as well as you can, for as long as you can. And if you’re feeling bad, think what that cat must be feeling. So you go up there, Johnny and see to him. The Countess’ rooms are bought and paid for another month at least, so I’ve been told. I reckon