Once, a long time ago, romantic comedies were about love triumphing against the odds. Nowadays, we have Priceless, a romcom for our times about a young woman (Audrey Tautou, above) who thinks she has bagged a millionaire, finds out he is a waiter, blows all his cash and turns him into a high-earning gigolo. Ta-dah. Money triumphs and love comes a poor second. But can you blame the writers for delivering this message? They are reaching out to a cynical new audience, 20% of whom — if surveys are to be believed — are unapologetic gold-diggers who would marry solely for wealth.

Well, good luck to them. There is no more demanding a job than being a rich man’s wife (RMW). I don’t speak from personal experience, but I have got close enough to the other half to observe that you need nerves of steel (not to mention abs, buns and breasts), plus the energy and determination of Hillary Clinton — and that’s just to pull them. If you want to keep them, it’s like having five or six jobs.

There’s fit model job. (Rich men don’t want the washed-out version, so if you don’t keep as minty-glinty as Kate Middleton, you will get traded in.) Then there’s pro-housekeeper (RMW must run at least three properties to Martha Stewart standard), yummy mummy, super-hostess (in the manner of American ambassador’s wife) and real person with outside interests.

Forget scoffing chocolates out of heart-shaped boxes while the pool boy does his stuff — the one woman who never gets a lie-in is RMW. She’s Power Plating, she’s waxing, she’s briefing chefs and nannies, planning surprise parties on St Barts and getting dogs sculpted and gardens landscaped. Then, because it’s 2008, she needs a day job. (See Coleen’s fashion career and Lady Bamford’s organic empire.) Last but not least, and the part of the deal on which it all hinges, she has the rich husband to handle. (I’m stressed just thinking about it.)

This man, don’t forget, has a rich man’s standards, a rich man’s patience and a rich man’s appetite for failure. You can’t say, “Oh, I forgot Ocado, so it’s Special K for supper.” You can’t say, “I fell asleep with my moustache bleach on, so you have to take the children swimming.” You can’t have a normal relationship with a senselessly rich man because

a) he is not normal; b) you are trying to be five women; and c) he is always thinking, “I can have any woman I want, so why have I got one with PMT who can’t make a decent martini?”

Why question the morals of the Priceless generation? It’s a hellish job keeping the world’s wealth creators happy. Thank God there are women out there who have the calling.

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