"My mother used to say that being in love was the most important thing in the world, and nothing mattered more than being true to your heart.

"But then she fell in love with another man, and he became the most important thing in the world – enough for her to leave us to be with him."

Justine gave a little wry smile. "She had to be true to her heart, you see. Well, she was. She made a fine romantic heroine, giving up everything for love. But one of the things she gave up was me."

Riccardo was watching her with shocked intensity. "She didn't take you with her?"

"But how could she?" Justine asked in a rallying voice. "Romantic heroines can't have eight-year-old kids in tow."

He gave her hand the smallest squeeze, as if to show that he understood her irony.

"So you stayed with your father?" he asked.

"For a while. Then he dumped me on one of his sisters while he went out on the town. He didn't want me cramping his style, either. In due course he fell in love again.

"They sent me to boarding school for a while. Then there was some mix-up about who was supposed to be collecting me for Christmas. In the end, neither of them did. I spent Christmas in the care of the Social Services."

Riccardo swore violently. Justine didn't understand the words, but from his tone she guessed it was a profanity. She felt vaguely comforted at the fierceness of his empathy.

"I never lived with either of my parents again," she went on. "Neither of their new marriages lasted. My mother is currently being true to her heart in South America with a man ten years younger. We don't keep in touch."

"So that's why your views are jaded," Riccardo said. "And who could blame you?"

"As far as I'm concerned love is just an excuse for selfishness."

"In selfish people, yes. But love doesn't make us what we are. It merely reveals the truth about us. Selfish people love selfishly, generous people love generously. Your parents were spoiled brats, but don't blame love. It didn't make them that way."