We spent decades subsidising our 'poor' friend... then she bought a second home and a £75k Range Rover!

On the day we left secondary school, my five closest friends and I made a pact. Our friendship, forged as awkward 11-year-olds, would span a lifetime, regardless of where careers or families took us.

And sure enough, for 24 years, the six of us met regularly, husbands and children in tow, even going on group holidays together. Then last spring, a touchy subject tore our little group apart: money, leading to a sense of betrayal and, I'll admit, latent jealousy.

For years, Rachel, 41, a project manager, and her husband Rob, 44, a surveyor, who live in a modest three-bedroom townhouse, had pleaded relative poverty and we had no reason not to believe them.

The rest of us are not wealthy exactly, but comfortably off with good careers (I'm a management consultant). Although we never discussed salaries — my husband and I earn a total of £100,000 a year, but in the South East this doesn't stretch far — I assumed we were in similar boats.

To accommodate Rachel and Rob's apparently more meagre budget, we had downgraded group ski trips, city breaks, staycations and ordered takeaways instead of eating out. Once we subsidised Rachel on a girls' holiday to Malta when she said she couldn't afford the accommodation. When we had takeaways at my house, I didn't chase her to pay me back.

At a gathering last April, however, they pulled up in a showroom-fresh Range Rover that wouldn't have left them much change out of £75,000. Quite a step up from their old Volvo.

'It's as great as I thought it would be,' said Rob.

Glances were exchanged around the room; weren't they supposed to be strapped for cash? Perhaps they'd had a secret windfall — an inheritance, or a bonus at work.

But a couple of months later, when we were having a girls-only weekend, Rachel let slip that 'Rob and I have just bought a second home as an investment to rent out'. When one of the group repeated her words back to her in astonishment, she replied: 'Yeah, we've been saving for years.'

Apparently, it's a three-bedroom terraced cottage close to where we grew up in Cambridgeshire, not grand, but buying a second home is in stark contrast to our stressing over increased mortgage rates on our only property.

Incredulity rippled around the group as we realised they'd hoodwinked us. All those years pretending they couldn't afford this or that while they were secretly amassing a savings pot containing hundreds of thousands!

After the weekend away, a WhatsApp group minus Rachel was set up so the rest of us could vent our fury, remembering countless times we'd altered our plans so they could join in.

I was furious recalling the fuss Rachel had made about my 40th birthday 18 months before.

In hindsight, this was perhaps the most hurtful compromise. I had planned a weekend away in a beautiful cottage in Norfolk. When I presented my suggestion and prices — £200 per couple for three nights — Rachel immediately replied: 'We're not doing that, we can't afford it.'

She followed it up with: 'Surely you can find a cheaper cottage, otherwise do we have to do a weekend away?' I was disappointed, but sympathetic, believing they were squeezed financially. We went out for afternoon tea instead.

One friend was furious that we'd paid for Rachel's Malta hotel room. And another reminded us that when Rachel and Rob hosted a barbecue a couple of summers earlier, they'd asked everyone to contribute to the cost of food and drink. Then there was the planned ski trip they said was extravagant (it wasn't) so we switched it from Italy to Bulgaria to save about £300 per couple.

Now we know they were saving hundreds of thousands of pounds.

Who knows where their splurge will end — they're planning a large kitchen extension next. You may think it's a case of the green-eyed monster on my part. I admit I was envious of the second property.

And it did make me and my husband reflect on our own financial decisions. We've both lost loved ones and our attitude is that life is short, so we spend a bit and we save a bit.

But the real reason for my anger is a sense of betrayal. If they'd opened up about the reasons for being so hard up, we would have understood but probably not been so accommodating on reducing our group plans.

The deception cuts deep and the other girls feel the same. Our husbands' views are more divided — some say we should leave them be. A year on, however, my husband thinks it's time to include Rachel and Rob again.

We should have explained how betrayed we felt. Instead, we talk behind their backs and it's become easier not to include them.

We all felt a curious sense of relief and guilt the first time we met for dinner without them. But it's not the same now there's a core member of our group missing. Sadness is my prevailing emotion because I love Rachel. She is the most loyal of friends, but money can change people and I don't doubt that Rob was the main driver in keeping their savings scheme to themselves.

We're planning a short break to Mallorca — feeling guilty, we decided to let Rachel and Rob know. As always, their first question was 'How much will it cost?'

This time we said we're sticking with the flights and accommodation we've earmarked, so they're not coming — no doubt putting money aside for their new kitchen instead. I think they're oblivious to the hurt they've caused.

So it turns out our friendship pact won't go the distance. I hope their new spoils were worth it.

Names have been changed.

As told to SADIE NICHOLAS