“Winners never quit and quitters never win,” has always been my motto. I was no
quitter, I was persistent.

At nineteen with legs up to my armpits and assets other women would pay for I
caught my first rabbit in the headlights. Not at random I might add, I had tracked
him down, made sure I was in the right place at the right time. It didn’t take much
to win him, eighty plus and charmed to have me on his arm. I flew him up the aisle
before anyone ever heard off the word “prenup”.  Two years later, I stood at his
graveside eyeing over at his competition while tear drops smeared my perfectly
made-up face. His eyes pleaded with me to allow him to comfort me. His wife led
him away, but I was no quitter.

Six months later after a hit and run, he stood where I had stood mourning for his
wife. Who was I not to comfort him? At the tender age of twenty-four, we married
after spending two weeks at a retreat for grieving spouses. He hadn’t time to think
about a prenup, before the deal was sealed. Nor, had he time to enjoy this beauty
at his side before he had an horrific accident a year later on our second
honeymoon. He should have never skied down the black piste. I was so lucky I
held back. “I still don’t know what made me do so,” I cried on the paramedic’s
shoulder. I kept repeating, “he told me he was an experienced skier.” Marriage
number two gone and with two businesses, how would I cope? Nobody likes a
quitter so I picked myself up and carried on. After all, winners never quit.

I gave myself a little well-earned break from men to concentrate on the businesses.
They were both well-oiled ships so they ran smoothly. With plenty of dogs in heat
around me, at thirty, I was eliminating potential husbands by their low bank
balances until I got a hefty one that was free. The right bus turned up to bring me
to my destination.

This marriage to yet another business owner had to be postponed because of a lack
of trust and the mention of a prenup. It soon ironed itself out, he realised there
was no need to worry, I had plenty of money and he had reasonably good health at
seventy-eight. It was the beginning of a five-year marriage and a high salt diet. A
massive heart attack left me on my own again at thirty-six.
Three strong vibrant businesses, rolled in the euros, the last one in itself, a licence
to print money.

I retreated on a full world cruise to grieve with many glasses of fine champagne to
console me. When the paperwork was complete on his last will and testament and
all his assets transferred to me, the sharks began to swim around me. I could
recognise these rogues. But I was vintage and they were technical and charming. I
could become their target. I was hitting forty. One, or two grey hairs were
appearing. Not one to pay for beauty, I knew it wasn’t it that was attracting them. I
sold up all my assets and left the country. I had millions to live the life I deserved,

having to answer to no man. I was quitting this “marriage” game. I would dabble
with men every now and then, but I would always go home alone. No one would
ever know my secret to success. I quit when I was ahead.