Maggie was unusually subdued when she returned home from the five day conference she attended every year. When I asked her if anything was the matter she simply said she was tired – too many long days and late nights – and went for a long soak in the bath. When she came down again, dressed in a jogging suit, I offered her a glass of wine with the meal that I had prepared.
'I shouldn't,' she sighed, accepting the glass, 'I drank far too much this last week.'
By the end of the meal we'd finished the bottle and she was looking and sounding more relaxed.
'So tell me about the conference,' I said encouragingly.
'Ah, it was, you know, just a conference,' she shrugged dismissively, but didn't sound altogether convincing.
'Okay, but what about the other delegates? Usually you hook up with some new ones as well those you've met before and have a good time. Don't tell me there was none of that?'
'No, of course not. As you say, I met some of the regulars as well as some new people and, like I said, I drank way too much.'
The way she said it, it almost sounded like she was making an excuse. Certainly she sounded defensive. But she didn't offer any more and I didn't push it. Instead I quickly tidied up and then smiled down at her where she sat on the sofa.
'Anyway, I'm glad you're back. I missed you and I'm hoping you missed me, too.'
'Of course I did,' she said, way too quickly.
'Then let's go to bed and we can show each other just how much we missed each other.'
'Okay,' she agreed hesitantly, 'but I'm really tired. I don't think I want to, you know. . .'
I waited until we were in bed and pulled her close. She made a half-hearted attempt to resist before giving in and snuggling up closely.
'I love you, you know,' she told me, urgently.
'I know,' I said soothingly. 'But I'm beginning to think there's something you're not telling me.'
'What do you mean?'
'I think something happened at the conference.'
'Like what?' she demanded, trying, but not quite managing, to sound indignant.
'I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, you got yourself laid at that conference,' I said carefully.
There was a sharp intake of breath, but nothing else.
'You're not denying it,' I said gently.
'I can't,' she said in small, tearful voice. 'Charlie, I'm sorry. I never meant it to happen.'
I wrapped my arms around her.
'I'm sure you didn't. But, to be honest, I'm surprised something like this hasn't happened sooner.'
'What do you mean?' she sniffed, sounding puzzled.
'Let's face it Maggie, you're an attractive, sexy woman who's been married – and faithful – for fifteen years. That's more than enough time to get a little bored with what has to be, no matter what we might tell each other, rather predictable sex. So in the right circumstances – away from home, lots of booze, new and interesting and flattering men. . . Let's just say if the position was reversed I know I would be tempted.'
'Is that what you think? That our sex life has become boring and predictable?'
'Perhaps I wouldn't go that far – and I would have to say that there hasn't been a time when I didn't enjoy it – but I do think it's become a little stale.'
'That's probably true, on occasion,' she conceded, after a moment or two of consideration, 'but it hasn't meant you've been unfaithful.'
'True, but with your travelling about, you have more opportunity than I do. Maybe if our positions were reversed . . . '
'You don't sound particularly angry,' she said hesitantly – and more than a little hopefully.
'Like I said, I can understand and I don't know if I would have resisted had I been in your position. I think I'm more relieved than angry. Relieved that, even though you had a fling, you still came back.'
'Of course I came back,' she said, sounding a little stronger. 'Despite the evidence to the contrary, I still love you.'
