But for now, Katrina had more pressing matters. She had finished most of the winter melon, and half of the veal. She pushed some to the left, then to the right. She did not want to seem ungrateful; the food was delicious. But Miss Satomi was right—there was a lot of heavy cream in that gravy.

“That was wonderful,” Katrina finally said. “Thank you for the meal.”

She got up to leave, but Astrid stopped her.

“I have lemon tarts,” she said.

“Miss Satomi?” Katrina pleaded.

“I warned you to save room. Enjoy!” Shizuka made to get up. However, Astrid put her hand on her shoulder, as well.

“No, no. You too. We have so many lemons, after all.”

“From the Aguilars?”

“From the Aguilars.”

Finally, mercifully, dinner ended.

“Shall we get started?” Shizuka said.

Katrina washed up and went to the grand piano in the living room. It was immaculate, just as Katrina might have expected. Atop it was an old black-and-white picture of a young woman who Katrina felt she’d seen before, but could not quite place.

“Katrina? What are you doing?”

“But the piano is here?”

“That’s Astrid’s piano. Mine is downstairs.”

“Astrid’s piano?” Katrina stared at the picture. “Then that’s Miss Astrid?”

“Of course it is,” Miss Satomi said, as if the picture had been taken yesterday. “Now, come along.”

Katrina followed Shizuka down the staircase, which opened into a small foyer, which then in turn led to a door.

And beyond that …

“This is my practice hall. I wanted someplace peaceful. I wish I could have a fishpond here, but it would be too difficult to control the humidity.”

Katrina gasped. The lights glowed like the sun—if she hadn’t known, she would have assumed they were outdoors. There were even bamboo and bonsai trees.

In what could have been a Japanese teahouse, was a shiny black piano. And on the walls?

Now Katrina understood why Miss Satomi had not been impressed with the violins on display at Grunfeld’s, nor even at the Matías’.

Hanging from the walls were the most beautiful violins Katrina had ever seen.

Then Miss Satomi handed her a bow and shoulder rest.

“Pick one.”

Katrina scanned the wall. Each violin was exquisite. As she walked, each seemed to hear and respond to every step, every breath Katrina took.

Yet Katrina hesitated. For as beautiful as they were, seeing them only made her miss her violin all the more.

“Katrina, you are looking for a friend, not a lover,” she heard Miss Satomi say.

Tentatively, Katrina pulled a violin from the wall, attached the shoulder rest, and played. Not bad.

But why would it be bad?

Of course it was good. Maybe this is what good sounds like?

Or this?

What was she listening for? Did she even have the right to judge?