Hello, I’m Your Husband’s Mistress. I put aside the magazine layout I’d been reviewing and stared a…

“Good afternoon, Im your husbands mistress.”

I placed aside the battered issue of Country Life Id been leafing through and stared at the striking blonde whod materialised in the doorway of my study. She curled her lips into a wry smile and continued,

“Im afraid Ive got rather disappointing news for you Im pregnant. And naturally, your husband is the father.”

In my best businesslike tone I enquired,
“Do you have some form of documentation?” She beamed victoriously and produced from her designer leather bag a pristine NHS leaflet stamped with a blue seal. She had clearly come prepared.

I scrutinised the paper. It was properly done, not some hasty forgery, which was hardly surprising. When one brings such tidings to the wife of a lover, slapdash attempts wont do.

“Right,” I said, nodding, “looks as though you genuinely are pregnant. Next, youll need to do a paternity test to prove your child really is by my husband and then, everything will be sorted.”

At this, the blonde seemed to grow unsteady for the first time. She stammered,

“Sorted how, do you mean?”

I obligingly elaborated,

“My husband will set up child support for you. Ill help you find a decent private doctor, book you into a comfortable maternity hospital ahead of time youll be able to see it all through, without a single worry about your own health or the babys.”

The blonde girl looked rattled.

“But arent you hearing me? Im having a baby. This baby needs its father.”

My voice softened, just a touch,

“Our three children need their father too, and thankfully, they have him. You neednt fret my husband will absolutely visit your child, and when the time comes, hell even walk them through the school gates. On top of it, youll be able to leave your child with us from time to time. Our nannies are first-rate. I adore children myself. Youll get a bit of freedom back a rare chance for a single mother to rebuild her life. Believe me, raising a child alone is no picnic.”

The blonde leapt from her seat, gripping her fancy bag until the handle crumpled. Her once-smooth face contorted unattractively.

“Dont you understand?” she all but wailed. “Im sleeping with your husband. Im carrying his baby. He doesnt love you any longer, he loves me!”

An odd trace of pity passed through me this girl was still so impossibly young. But reality soon scrubs the daydreams from the most hopeful heads, even the ones scheming to win themselves a ready-made wealthy husband.

“My dear,” I said quietly, “youre the fourth young lady to come to me with words just like those. The first didnt even think to bring a doctors note, the second and third handed over fakes Oh, and there was one more, whose pregnancy was real but the paternity test ruled my husband out. Neither I nor my husband ever refused genuine help, but not even the kindest man can bear outright deceit”

The blonde looked quite adrift, but I went on,

“As for your affair with my husband well, he sleeps with me too, and more than a few other contenders as well. I would never deny my beloved man a few indulgences. Its never impacted our family, nor the children So, if youll just leave your details, Ill arrange for you to have the paternity test, someone will ring you tomorrow.”

The girls composure failed. She bolted from the study, her bag swinging wildly. I lit a cigarette.

Id been expecting her visit; Id already heard of my husbands latest infatuation. I managed to endure this conversation, just as I had the last few, though it was harder every time. Truthfully, it would be easier to collapse, to throw a spectacular fit and let my very wealthy, very eligible husband walk straight into another womans arms.

Years ago, hed left his previous wife for me, after I arrived at her house with news of my pregnancy. Shed thrown a furious scene, and my husband has never stood for tears or drama. He married me, especially since I was genuinely expecting his child, and I cemented my place with two more children.

Deep down, I always knew that a man who leaves his wife for his mistress would never belong wholly to me either. There will, inevitably, be more would-be replacements for my position. But I will not repeat the old wifes mistake. I refuse to give any newcomer the tiniest crack.

I will endure.

I shall manage.