I have been married for almost 30 years, happily I thought, but I have discovered that during the first eight years my wife had a series of affairs and one-night stands, mainly with my work colleagues and so-called friends. I am reasonably sure there have been no others since that early period.

I found out by accident when one of those men, in what I can only imagine was a fit of conscience, wrote to tell me about his involvement and that he was not the only one. When I confronted my wife she at first denied it all, but, after a huge row, admitted the whole thing. She didn’t offer any excuse, simply saying that she could not help herself. My first reaction was to kick her out, but a close, real friend has advised me that it was a long time ago.

She said I should put it behind me, but I am finding that I cannot. I am constantly on edge when my wife and I are together. If she goes out alone I want to ask her where she has been and whom she has been speaking to. We see nothing of our other friends now because of my worries that there may be others I don’t know about. When all this was happening my wife told me she was having “female” problems and our sex life was zero. I feel like I have been taken for a ride for most of my married life. What would you advise?
David

You may be a little surprised (even shocked) to learn that the thing which offends me most is not your wife’s ancient infidelity, but the fact that this man wrote to try to destroy you both. You “imagine” he was listening to his conscience, but I don’t believe such a cruel, destructive action, after so long, can be justified on those grounds.

Was he watching you both through the years, biding his time, waiting for the moment to lob his grenade? What good could it possibly do? If it was weighing on his mind so much he should have confessed to a priest or a close friend or a stranger on a train, but left you out of it. Supposing you had become deranged and murdered your wife (for such things do happen); would he have felt satisfied that at least he had told the truth? People like him will have no place in my heaven.

But plenty of sinners will. The impulsive ones who are young don’t quite know what they want, and so make mistakes. Those who think they have fallen out of love and succumb to somebody else then realise they were mistaken. People who feel so unsure of themselves that they need the reassurance of being thought sexy, and then see how limited that is, sometimes when it’s too late. The sad ones who pay for years and years for one error and feel desperately sorry that they let themselves follow heart, not head. It isn’t just because I have done many things that were wrong that I hesitate to cast stones. It’s also because I truly believe that only through forgiveness and not blame, through compassion and not pride, do we have any hope in general of making it through to the second half of this century.

Please don’t think I am trying to minimise your anger and pain, or that rat-gnaw of retrospective jealousy, or the bitter thought that your whole marriage has been based on a lie, or the wound to your masculinity. You have had a terrible shock. But what now? Your sensible friend gave you good advice which, you maintain, you can’t follow. So the bleak question posed by T.S. Eliot encapsulates your current mood: “After such knowledge, what forgiveness?” Perhaps we should start there — with what you actually “know”. Never mind the imaginary lover count — do you know your wife? At the time of the row and confession, did you think that you had never known her?

Many people can run a life in compartments, working out private demons yet simultaneously being devoted partners. It doesn’t make them evil, nor negate the love that they have shown. We are so much more complicated than that. The dreadful upheaval would have been a good opportunity to talk in a way that you had perhaps never talked before, discovering the real reason for her deceptions all those years ago. What she felt about you then, and now. What remains for each of you to love, in this changed person you now need to know in a new way. (I include her, because she must feel miserable at the way your behaviour has changed, though she probably feels that she deserves it.) But you are no nearer to that knowledge, are you? It would be so much more significant than the cheap piece of information dished out to you by that sadistically self-righteous man.

This is the way it is. You have to look at each other properly now, and talk, talk, talk. Only you can decide whether you want your long relationship to be finished, or if you think you can work to find a way through — so that you and she may yet be a solace to each other as you grow old. The way things are — recrimination your every gesture, your mind poisoned with suspicion — you would surely be better apart. On the other hand, if you could stop thinking of your wife’s body as a piece of territory, realise that you could still be the great love of her life despite her youthful infidelity, and understand that the momentary sexual act is as nothing set against a lifetime of companionship, and bedmates are not always soulmates. If you can transform yourself into that wise person, you still have a chance of holding each other up in mutual understanding. Which is a good way of defining love.

Dear Bel,

I am in my forties, widowed some years ago, with a long-term partner with whom I am content. I thought I was past having my head turned by other men, as we have a good sex life. Recently I met an attractive young (mid-twenties) foreign student. At first I was amused by my strong physical attraction to him. But recently I have realised the feeling is mutual — this despite my efforts not to give myself away. I am so tempted to take him to bed, even though the rational me knows all the arguments against it. My job means that I will continue to see this man every week, so I can’t just avoid him entirely. Help!
Sally

Do you think one is ever past having one’s head turned? An artist in his eighties once said to me cheerfully: “Don’t you always find yourself falling in love? I do!” He was still happily married to his first love, yet flirting and fancying were an essential part of his life force. There’s nothing wrong with that.

But you have to weigh what you might ruin: a stable relationship which makes you happy, the possibility that an affair would cause embarrassing complications at work, and the likelihood that you could end up being very hurt by this young man. As an older woman you think you’d call the shots (I like that “take him to bed”) and the frivolous female response would be “Go girl!” . . . but I’d be careful. So many letters written to this column are full of the terrible pain caused by giving in and going for it. Of course, in my wild youth I thought it was important for us all to “seize the time”, but now I know that time can’t be seized, it just rolls on, taking us with it. In your position I’d enjoy the flirtation, but listen to reason, not fancy.

E-mail your problems to: bel.mooney@thetimes.co.uk or write to her at: times2, 1 Pennington Street, London E98 1TT. Detail such as your age is helpful. Please include your real name, but we will use your chosen pseudonym if you wish.

Bel Mooney reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.