This is a story a lifelong feminist like me should not even have read, let alone written.
But even a lifelong feminist needs to let go sometimes.
I hope you enjoy it for what it is and don't judge me too harshly for its content.
Monday 7th July
It was Monday afternoon and as the long, dark, chauffeur-driven car sped through the London traffic away from her office in the City, Lucinda, or to use her full name, Lady Lucinda Estelle Spencer, was once again convinced that she had made a mistake in her marriage.
After spending another strained weekend with her husband, for her the start of the working week had been a relief.
Five years into what was supposed to have been wedded bliss, she now realised that marrying a man 'below her station' as her Grandmother would have put it, had not been a good idea. However good looking, charming and at the time, world famous her husband had once been, when it came down to married life, they simply had too little in common.
At first they had been the golden couple everyone wanted to read about and be seen with. Lady Lucinda, the daughter of a Duke, had been a B-list debutante, her presence at parties mentioned if not featured in society magazines and she was always invited to all the right places at all the right times.
She was society news, if not front page news.
She had met the gorgeous Peter Mountfield at a party held by one of her oldest friends in her family's country house and they had fallen for each other almost immediately. As one of the foremost rugby football players in the England squad and tipped for the captaincy one day, Peter had already achieved A-list status and, thanks to several lucrative product endorsement deals, was a celebrity even in Lucinda's world.
Despite her aristocratic background and his sturdy, middle-class roots, she had been dazzled by this strong, handsome, world-famous man and had all but stalked him throughout the evening until he finally had no choice but to notice her.
Lucinda herself was a tall, willowy brunette with perfect manners, a noble bearing and an innate sense of style that could bring extra life even to a Lagerfeld dress. Despite, or perhaps because of her slightly supercilious demeanour, she was impossible to ignore and, once he had spotted her, she knew it would only take her a few minutes to captivate what she believed was a very attractive but not-very-bright sportsman.
It was a miscalculation; Lucinda had completely underestimated the effect Peter's presence and muscular body would have on her in return. Instead of the encounter being the start of a few weeks' well-publicised wooing as she had intended, before she realised what was happening, he quickly and efficiently seduced her and bedded her noisily and comprehensively in his nearby hotel room that very evening.
She had foolishly underestimated the stamina of an international athlete like Peter too; they had spent the entire night and most of the next day in bed making passionate, almost violent love until she had finally fallen asleep, tired and drained but for the first time in her life, truly satisfied sexually.
When Peter had eventually driven her home to her family estate late the following afternoon, she had been dishevelled and exhausted, a fact that did not go unnoticed by her family and the society press as the following month's headlines shouted to the world.
So had their relationship begun, very much in the public eye.
Lucinda's father had himself been a rugby player of some standing and had approved of his daughter's choice of boyfriend, though not without some misgivings. Hugo, a shrewd and able businessman as well as an undoubted aristocrat, had inherited both his title and a large property portfolio from his uncle. The business had blossomed under his expert care and he was now considered one of the fifty richest men in Britain.
His daughter Lucinda was a bright girl as well as a highly attractive one. Unlike her mother and so many of her former school friends - the clothes-horses as she rather cruelly called them - she had a real and worthwhile job. True, she 'worked for Daddy' in his property business but her role in the Commercial Department was real and demanding. Like her father, she was damned good at it too and had proved herself over the past few years even to her most cynical colleagues. Although she could often be high-handed and condescending, her judgement was unimpeachable and it was an open secret that her father intended her to take over the business as he approached retirement.
As the older child, she would probably inherit everything after his death too.
Lady Lucinda stared out of the car's darkened rear window at the familiar London streets as they whizzed past and sighed; if only her marriage to Peter had been going as well as her business.
There had been another argument that morning over breakfast to add to the many that now routinely marred their married life. The Kensington apartment they had lived in for the last three years was beautiful and had even featured in one of the glossy society magazines, but was a place of torment for her now. Ever since the back injury two years ago that had cost her husband his sporting career, his fame and his sponsorship income, her life had been unbearable.
To the outside world, they were still the golden couple but within their own little world, the tensions were running high. Why Peter couldn't be content living off her considerable income was a mystery; after all she made more than enough to keep them both in the height of luxury for the rest of their lives, even without the trust fund her father had set up for her.
Why did he have to be so fiercely independent?
And what was wrong with people feeling pity for him? Pity had showered down on Peter after his career-ending injury but even then he didn't seem happy. Why he had to have this stupid 'macho' mentality about being 'the man of the house' was beyond her.
No, Peter had insisted on making use of his much-neglected degree and had joined his own family's law firm in Southampton. As a job this hardly fitted in with her intended A-list lifestyle. It also meant working long hours and being available twenty-four-seven which was bad enough for Lucinda, but what was much worse was that it required him to mix with the seedier side of the Hampshire population. He had little time now to be with the society crowd and her former celebrity friends who now seemed increasingly to ignore the two of them when planning parties.
As far as Lucinda was concerned, Peter had become unpleasant, grumpy, bad tempered, sex-obsessed and a bore.
She knew that he increasingly thought of her as an over-privileged, workaholic, status-obsessed Daddy's girl who was rapidly becoming frigid.
The last problem wasn't helped by the fact that Lucinda had lost interest in sex with him less than two years after their wedding. Even now she couldn't be sure why; maybe the pain brought about by his extraordinarily large erection had played a part -- certainly she had always been very tight 'down there' - but whatever the cause, their love life had been sporadic at best for three years and, as she drove to work that morning, they had not made love for over three months.
Having Victoria, Peter's young, slim, blonde, moderately attractive paralegal PA to compare her with every working day hadn't helped. The girl simply worshipped her employer in a way Lucinda found unhealthy; even nauseating but which her husband didn't even seemed to understand.
