I’d never share a joint bank account with my accountant husband, even though we’ve been married for 33 years

The coat had been one of those heart-thumping purchases that set desire for the item against anguish at the cost. But I couldn’t resist it. A woollen wrapover in baby blue — my favourite colour. I just had to have it.

But, thankfully, I didn’t have to make this a furtive transaction by hiding the coat at the bottom of the wardrobe and hoping the cost would not be spotted when it flew out of my bank account.

And when my husband Martin did see me wear it and did the classic ‘How much did that cost?’, it was my choice whether to spill over how much I had spent.

I remained vague. After all, it’s my money. Why shouldn’t I splurge once in a while? This is the joy of having separate bank accounts, which we have had throughout our 33-year marriage. And there are no plans to change the status quo.

Sure, as Martin is a chartered accountant, I’ve always deferred to him to make decisions surrounding our financial welfare, such as choice of mortgage lenders, home insurance policies and emergency plumbing.

Martin has spent more than 35 years looking after other people’s finances and worked in one of the biggest accountancy firms in the country before setting up on his own. We, as a family, can reap the benefits of his knowledge without the two of us sharing a joint account.

Despite trusting Martin implicitly on such matters, I’ve never once wanted us to have some kind of communal pool in which to dump our joint income – even though he is the higher earner by some considerable stretch. Instead, I steadfastly refuse to let him exercise any direct control over the money I make. And I have no agency over his earnings.

This is not about fear of Martin syphoning off my hard-earned cash to pay for his, admittedly pricey, cycling fix (more about this later). Rather, it means we have an agreement over the contributions we make for joint needs whilst exercising financial independence over the rest.

So, given he is the higher earner, Martin pays the mortgage and he has worked out an amount that I pay him towards it via a standing order each month.

As for household bills, we divide and conquer. Martin handles all the boring utilities — such as water, electricity and gas. With his forensic accounting eye, he seems better placed for the arduous task of finding the best deals.

I deal with more day-to-day household expenses such as food bills, since I tend to run the kitchen. I also cover treats and holidays and all my expenses, including running my car.

Even though Martin and I are happy with separate accounts, some friends and colleagues see it almost as a tacit admission of a fault line in the marriage. They think it shows a breakdown of trust — and there’s research to back this up.

Scientists from the Indiana University Kelley School of Business concluded that married couples who have joint bank accounts not only have better relationships, they also fight less over money and feel better about how household finances are handled.

Yet our arrangement has served our domestic harmony well, and of the things couples can argue over, money hasn’t been one of them. Not least because of the many advantages of our arrangement.

For example, there’s no resentment when one partner chooses to indulge in purchases — so long as they keep up their side of the joint financial obligations.

Take the fact that Martin is a hugely enthusiastic cyclist. At one point he had five bikes propped up in the garage — despite only having one bottom.

He also bought a £2,000 ($A3850) Peloton exercise bike. Do I mind how much he spends on his hobbies, given the cost of mine is far more modest (I have one outdoor bike, no gadgets and do a couple of weekly exercise classes)?

Frankly — and this is the bit friends who have joint accounts struggle to compute — it’s his money. He works long hours for every penny he earns. So, as long as there is a roof over our head, the electricity has not been cut off and there are no bailiffs at the door, then what does it matter?

In fact, my greater objection is that Martin ups the volume on the Peloton to ear-splitting levels while he pounds through a class. At times, there is no escaping the braying of some hyper instructor roaring above an ABBA soundtrack.

Equally, I’m not accountable to him for the way I choose to spend my money. Helpful when, yet again, I had to shell out a few hundred pounds after ranging my car wing mirror (Him: ‘Again?’ Me: ‘No one’s asking you to pay for it.’). Or if I decide we need a holiday and go ahead and book us flights.

When our son, through his bad time-keeping, missed the train to a university open day, I had to pay a cool £70 for another ticket at the station. I didn’t tell his father to avoid the added headache of Martin asking crossly and repeatedly why our boy had been so careless.

We do have mirror wills (two wills created by us both) that names each other as the main beneficiary. Again, proof that egalitarian ethos does underline our divided finances.

Having separate accounts also has emotional benefits for a marriage. It means you can buy gifts or plan surprises without the other half having any idea.

Martin has a special birthday coming up and I can plot about what to buy him and fund how we as a family will celebrate.

Having separate accounts was a seamless extension of how we both entered into our marriage — with neither of us seeing a need to change the status quo.

We were never that good at sharing. For example, after we set up home, the arrangement was that since I got home from work before him, I would cook and he would clean up afterwards. This became an increasing flash point since it took Martin all evening to get around to doing the dishes.

All of this changed when, one day, he came home from work with a dishwasher in the back of his car. ‘There you are,’ he proclaimed with a flourish. ‘No need to keep nagging.’ He was right. A simple, not-up-for-discussion purchase made with his money provided the perfect route back to domestic harmony.

I should add that having a separate account is not about fiercely defending hard-worn independence. Nor is it about lack of trust. In fact, it should be noted that for some women there’s actually a tremendous risk involved in merging their money with a spouse.

One in six women in the UK has experienced financial abuse by a current or former partner, according to the charity Surviving Economic Abuse, and this might include restricting access to money — a particularly difficult issue for those who have only a joint bank account to their name.

So, it’s a decision that needs to reflect a strong and trusting dynamic.

Will my children — two of whom are married — follow suit? That’s for them to decide.

The beauty is there is an alternative to joint accounts.

Now that is a joint decision.