When I was a young woman, I was strikingly beautiful or so people used to say. I don't look in the mirror very often these days. I feel great, I'm full of energy and very active, so why get depressed by looking at my wrinkles?

In the morning I direct a cursory glance at my reflection, just enough to brush my hair and that's it for the rest of the day. This way I can preserve the illusion that I still look as good as I used to.

A few days ago I was eating breakfast with my granddaughter and all of a sudden she asked 'Would you like to be young again, Nana?'

I was about to choke on my cereal. I thought for a while and then said 'No, I don't think so.'

'Why?' she asked, not ready to give up yet.

'It's a long story. One I'll tell you one day when you're older, but let's say I made some wrong choices. If I could talk to a young me I would give her a piece of my mind. I'd tell her to get a grip and not to be an idiot.'

My granddaughter giggled and fortunately changed the subject.

That night I couldn't sleep. Our brief conversation had woken up memories that had remained buried in my subconscious for decades.

I was a young bride. I married at twenty and had my first child a year later. The first years of our marriage were blissfully happy. Every evening I rushed home from work, driven by the impatience to see my husband and child.

When my son was five, I was offered a job in Bourton. It was a two-hour drive from London, which meant I'd have to live away from home and would only be back for the weekend. My husband didn't like the idea one bit but knew it was a great opportunity for me. After all, it was the sixties and not many women were asked to be headmistress of a prestigious school. One night, after putting Marcus to bed we tried to decide what would be best for our family.

'You really have your heart set on this job, don't you?' Ray asked me.

'Yes. It's a great opportunity, one that might never come along again. And the money would come in handy.'

'If it's the money you're worried about I can work an extra shift.'

'It's not just that, Ray...'

My husband has never been fond of confrontation, so rather than arguing he got up and left the kitchen.
The course started a month later, so that Friday we drove to Bourton to find some kind of accommodation for me to stay during the week.

It was love at first sight. Bourton was a fairy tale village of yellow brick houses. A tiny river called the Windrush cut it in two.

After asking around for a couple of hours, we found a one-bedroom cottage that was ideal for me.

On my first day at Saint Michael's I was a bundle of nerves. I had never been headmistress before and was afraid of the responsibility. What if I failed?

In the morning, just before the classes started, I went to the staff room to see if any of the teachers needed help.

There was a new teacher I hadn't met yet. When he saw me, he walked up to me and introduced himself, a smile on his face. He told me his name was Rodrigo. Rodrigo was new in the school like me, he was going to be the Head of the Spanish Department that course.

A while later, while doing some paperwork in a corner of the room, I caught myself watching him. He was gorgeous. His hair was black and his eyes were blue, he was tall and ... 'What is wrong with me?' I thought guiltily as a wave of lust enveloped me.

At lunchtime in the canteen, I was sitting alone. It seemed nobody wanted to sit with the headmistress. Rodrigo came up to me, carrying a tray piled high with food.

'Is it okay if I sit here?' he asked.

'Go ahead. I was starting to feel conspicuously neglected.'

'They are afraid of powerful women. Cowards!'

After that we talked non-stop while we ate. He told me he was also married but that his wife had chosen to stay in Madrid. I told him about Ray and Marcus and about how much they meant to me.

One Thursday after work, Rodrigo asked me if I wanted to go for a drink with him. I should probably have said no but I was very comfortable in his company and didn't fully realize I was playing with fire.

The one drink became three and I felt incredibly tipsy. Rodrigo offered to walk me home for my own safety. I remember standing outside my cottage door thinking he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

'Do you want to come in? I have coffee,' I said it as if coffee was the greatest thing in the world.

'How can I refuse such an invitation?'

I managed to unlock the door on the third try. Not bad, considering how drunk I was.

We walked in and I went to the kitchen to make the coffee. When I came back, Rodrigo was sitting on the sofa and had placed his bare feet on the pine table.

I gave him one of the cups of coffee and sat next to him.

'You're a beautiful woman, you know,' he said. His words took me by surprise. Could a man like him really fancy me?

We sat uncomfortably till a moment later he kissed me gently on the cheek. It was then I knew I was a lost cause.

One thing led to another and we ended up making passionate love on my bed. I put my guilt aside and tried to enjoy every second. His touch made me feel more special than I had ever felt in my entire life.

We fell asleep just as a hint of pink light illuminated the sky.

When I woke up, I saw Rodrigo was still lying next to me.

'Good morning, sleepy head!' he said.

'Morning!' I answered, stretching lazily.

I don't know how long he waited or how exactly he started the conversation, but I remember him saying 'So we can be friends, can't we?'

The expression on my face must have startled him because he added 'You must have known I wasn't going to leave my wife.'

'I wasn't going to ask you to.'

From that day, our relationship was purely professional and decidedly uncomfortable. Luckily for me, he went back to Spain a couple of months later. But my guilt was there to stay.

So I'll never tell my granddaughter this but if I could have done something differently, I would have never been unfaithful to Ray. It wasn't worth it.