A couple of years ago, I was longing for a spot of winter sun in Cape Verde. Considering the cost of flights, hotel and new beachwear, I calculated I'd need several thousand pounds to spend a fortnight away in style. At 51, I'm a successful woman earning a six-figure salary from my own wellness business, so I didn't baulk at the price. But my boyfriend . . . I knew he couldn't afford to come unless I paid. Ben and I had been dating for six months and got on brilliantly. At the time, chemistry was all I thought about in a relationship. I'd never dreamt of judging a man's suitability via a peek at his bank balance. But I'm not shy about having money conversations, either, so I knew Ben's job in IT earned him a salary of £30,000.
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