Wasn’t it Oscar Wilde who said that a cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure – exquisite, and it leaves you wanting more? The same goes for Wolf-Ferrari’s one-act intermezzo Il segreto di Susanna, and no; no spoiler alerts here because it’s clear from early in the action that Susanna’s secret is that she’s a smoker. Her new husband Count Gil detests the filthy habit, and when he catches a whiff of tobacco around the house, he draws the only possible conclusion: that his devoted young wife must have taken a lover. But why keep a segreto when you can share a sigaretta?

It ends happily, of course, and if you saw Opera Holland Park’s recent London production you’ll know that half the delight of this practically perfect comic opera is the champagne sparkle and tender sensuality that Wolf-Ferrari brings to Gil and Susanna’s little tiff. Certainly, smoking has never sounded so seductive: a swirling, impressionistic haze of muted strings and low flutes. An ear for orchestral colour is one of the strengths of this new recording from Berlin, and I particularly liked the way that Krieger brings out the furtive counterpoint that slithers beneath the central orchestral interlude. Only the occasional ripple of laughter – and the clink of a chocolate cup – reveals that this is a live performance.

As in any two-hander, everything hangs on the central pair, and while Omar Montanari – a warm, lyrical baritone – can bluster as well as charm, Lidia Fridman is one of the gentler Susannas on record. Her soft-edged soprano brings a note of pathos to Susanna’s puzzlement that I haven’t heard before, which sits well with Krieger’s relatively stolid tempos. At 53 minutes, this is the slowest Segreto in the catalogue, which is not in itself a disqualification for an opera that has received (at best) only five recordings since its premiere in 1909.

But there’s more zing (and riper characterisation) to be had from Friedrich Haider in Oviedo (now on Naxos) and more authentic Italian flavour on Angelo Questa’s treasurable 1954 mono account from Turin (still a personal favourite – Cetra, 12/61). Both those discs come with generous couplings; Vasily Petrenko’s Liverpool version on Avie also supplies a full libretto with English translation. There’s neither libretto nor coupling here, though Fridman’s expressive singing and Krieger’s attentive conducting unquestionably bring something unique to the party. If this is your first Segreto I think you’ll enjoy it; but you might find yourself craving more. In my experience, it’s addictive.