The bell above the shop door chimed once, then chimed again, signalling the arrival of a customer. Mr Asaji, the owner of the establishment, got up from his seat in the cubbyhole that he used as an office and hurried out into the main shop. "Irrashaimase!" He bowed deeply. "Welcome to my business. How may I be of service?"

His customer was a young woman in western dress - likely one of the wives or daughters of the many Europeans who lived in the Foreign Concession in Shanghai. She was looking a the shelves that lined the shop walls, examining the myriad boxes that filled them. At Mr Asaji's greeting, she turned to look at the shopkeeper. "You are Asaji-san?" she asked hesitantly.

Mr Asaji bowed again. "Your humble servant."

"Good." The woman drew herself upright, adopting a commanding posture. "I have heard that you fix things."

Mr Asaji confidently returned the pale-skinned woman's gaze. "I have a modest ability, but I am more than a mere tinker."

The woman nodded. "Good. Is it true that you will undertake to fix anything?"

"What does the lady have in mind?"

Mr Asaji's customer took a deep breath. "I need you to fix my heart."

The old man shook his bald head. "I am sorry. I am not a healer, but I can recommend a doctor."

"No." The reply was quick and harsh. "No. This is not a physical thing." The woman's voice softened and became quiet. "It is ... ." She stopped, frowned and glanced around the shop.

Mr Asaji nodded. "I understand." He went to the door and turned over the sign that dangled behind it, before setting the locks. Then he pulled down a blind, covering the small window that looked out onto the street. "No-one will disturb us. All know that when things are like so, then Mr Asaji wishes privacy." The old oriental nodded to the woman. "And I shall reveal nothing of what passes here. I give you my word."

The woman relaxed and fumbled in her handbag, pulling out a creased picture that she placed on the shop counter. It was a black and white studio portrait of an oriental man - Chinese, Mr Asaji supposed.

"May I?" Mr Asaji asked, then picked up the photograph. "The man is not familiar to me. I would guess that he is a lover of some kind?"

"Something like that."

Mr Asaji continued to study the picture. "If I may be so bold - he has spurned you in some way?"

"And for that he must suffer."

The shopkeeper handed the picture back. "How do you wish him to suffer?"

"I want him to feel the anguish and pain that he has caused me."

Mr Asaji sighed. "I understand your motives. However, I do not believe that it is the best course for you to take." He gave the woman a hopeful look. "There are other ways that your heart can be healed, other ways that I can help you. Perhaps you would like something to make you forget him?"

"No." The woman shook her head. "He must suffer - just as I am suffering now."

Mr Asaji bowed. "Very well. As you wish. Return tomorrow and I will have something that will satisfy your desires." He walked to the door and started to undo the locks. Then he stood back to let the woman out.

When the woman returned, Mr Asaji was ready. He bowed politely. "I regret to say that I am able to fulfil your requirements."

"Regret?" The woman smiled. "You have nothing to regret. What is it?"

Mr Asaji held up a crystal bottle no bigger than his thumb. "Each of you must drink half of this elixir. Within an hour, he will feel your anguish and you -."

The woman snatched the bottle from the shopkeeper. "I don't care, so long as he suffers. What do I owe you for this?"

"Pay me when your heart is healed. Then you may pay me what you think it has been worth."

The woman stared at Mr Asaji for a minute, then placed the bottle in her handbag. "Thank you," she said at last. Then she turned away and left the shop.

Two days later, Mr Asaji was sitting in his office, reading the newspaper. He caught sight of the headline: Socialite Suicide Pact - Two Dead. Beneath the headline were two photographs. Mr Asaji recognised them both. One was of the woman who had come to visit him; the other was of the man whose picture she kept in her handbag.