Mr Yanagi struck the tuning fork firmly on his black briefcase. A high-pitched tone rang out and the A above middle C resonated with it. It’s fully connected, I thought. I should explain that each and every piano is distinct and individual, but all pianos are essentially connected. To tune the piano we manipulate the tension of the strings and adjust the hammers until they produce uniform vibrations of pure sound to link the instrument to the multiple musical sounds out in the wider atmosphere. In silence and with a serious look on his face, Mr Yanagi was ensuring that this piano could at any moment harmonize freely with the outside world.

As he was finishing the job some two hours later, a voice sang out from the entrance to the flat.

‘I’m back!’

Moments later, a young woman of about seventeen stepped into the room. She had black hair down to her shoulders and seemed shy. She bowed slightly, first to Mr Yanagi and then to me, before leaning against the wall to watch silently as Mr Yanagi tapped away.

‘Is this to your liking?’ Mr Yanagi played two scales before stepping away from the piano.

The girl approached tentatively, and let her fingers glide gently and affectionately over the keyboard without answering. I felt goosebumps rise on my bare arms.

‘Go ahead – play it, and see what you think,’ Mr Yanagi said, gesturing encouragement. In silence, she pulled up her piano stool and settled down, placing her hands on her thighs for a few seconds before running her fingers lightly over the keyboard. A short piece, both hands travelling evenly up and down and in contrary motion. An étude to train one’s fingers, I imagined. I thought it was exquisite. The notes were precise, elegant. My goosebumps did not go away and my heart contracted a little when the piece was over.

The girl rested her hands back in her lap, then nodded briefly. ‘Thank you very much,’ she said in a staccato manner. ‘I think this will do.’ Her voice was low and she did not meet our eyes.

‘We’ll be going then,’ Mr Yanagi said.

‘Oh, please wait a moment,’ the girl said, looking up suddenly. ‘My younger sister will be home soon, so would you mind holding on for her?’

It seemed odd that her younger sibling should have the final say, but I wondered whether in fact it said more about the girl in front of us and her own reticence.

As I pondered this, a beaming Mr Yanagi said, ‘Happy to oblige.’

The girl left the room for a moment and her mother walked in carrying a lacquer tray. ‘Please have some tea while you wait. If my other daughter doesn’t come home soon, you really don’t need to stay.’