I heard every last detail. Eventually we uncovered the truth behind the passion
Professor M was a 60-year-old academic in a scientific, technical field. She chose to lie on my couch, rather than sit opposite me, from our second meeting. Thick black glasses framed her strong nose and she wore monochrome, androgynous clothes. She had a stern authority about her that I noticed the very first time I met her. Her hair was uncoloured and cut into a chic crop. She had lived in London since university in her home country on another continent, and English was her third language, which she spoke perfectly. She had never seen a psychotherapist before.
In the first weeks of our work together, she talked – without stopping, breathlessly – about a man she had known in her 20s while undertaking doctoral work in America. By chance, they had met again recently at a conference overseas where both were presenting papers. They had sex in a hotel room hours after this meeting. A relationship began, with intense communication by email, text and phone. The man lived in a city about four hours by train from London, with his wife and three teenage children.
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