The answer slowly dawned on me: he didn’t care if he could see the pianist – possibly it was better that he couldn’t. He wanted to concentrate solely on the sound. If you considered the direction of the lid of the piano, it was natural that the sound would resonate towards the right. I regretted picking a seat in the middle without giving this proper consideration.

My heart contracted a little as the lights in the hall dimmed and the pianist appeared on stage. He was a silver-haired man, more imposingly built than I had imagined from listening to him on CD. The applause subsided and he seated himself elegantly in front of the keyboard. He threw the tails of his jacket over the back of the piano stool, and adjusted his feet in front of the pedals, leaving his left foot on the floor, his right foot balanced lightly and in readiness on top of the pedal. A moment of stillness. He placed his fingers on the keys, lifted his wrists, and began to play.

In an instant any thoughts about where I was sitting were blown away. It was beautiful. Overwhelmingly beautiful. The physicality of the piano, its voice, the expression. From the black forest on stage something exquisite was flowing and filling the hall.

I tried listening to the tone with the thought that Mr Itadori had created it but even that proved futile. If tone has colour, this one was nearly translucent, or rather the sound took on whatever colours and form the pianist desired, from one moment to the next. Together we were lifted up, as though we had become one with the music, as though we too were part of it.

If I hadn’t known, I probably wouldn’t have thought this was a sound that Mr Itadori had called into being. But I understood. The ideal sound is in harmony with the person who plays the instrument – a sound that allows the pianist’s own talents and personality to shine most brightly. No one thinks about the skill of the tuner. And that is perfectly fine.

As the last of the applause from the audience slowly faded away, I was left perfectly happy, even a little intoxicated. I rose from my seat and joined the flow of people exiting the hall. The MD was among them.

‘So how was your first concert?’ he asked.

‘It was wonderful,’ I said, unable to find a more colourful word to describe it. ‘The piano was amazing.’

The boss was all smiles. ‘Loving the piano, loving music – that’s what it’s all about.’

I couldn’t imagine that anyone listening to this evening’s music hadn’t loved it.

‘Though I do get the feeling that Mr Itadori is loved a little too much by the pianist.’

I followed the MD up the curved staircase to the foyer.