Page count: 248
The back says: There’s love, and there’s revenge. Betsy Lou Saegressor is bent on revenge. Her father is dead and, to top it off, the vast fortune that should have been hers has somehow ended up in the bank account of the legendary and elusive Englishman, C.D. McKee.
So Betsy sets out from New York to seduce and betray him. C.D. is fat and ugly – but boy is he sexy. Betsy follows him through the night clubs of London, grooving to jazz, smoking hash – and plotting murder.
I say: Well, colour me disappointed and lock me in the cupboard (no, I have no idea what that means). I was
believing told that this was going to be a funny novel that would keep me
entertained for a while, but once I started reading I kept looking out for the
fun and found none.
It would be easy to say that it was merely not my cup of tea, but there really wasn’t anything even remotely funny in there. Oh yes, I will admit to recognising a few witticism throughout, but nothing that made me laugh – or even smirk. The main problem I had was that the storyline wasn’t convincing enough to be good, and not absurd enough to be funny. It was just kind of meh.
Betsy moves to London to seduce and kill the man who married her father’s widow, C.D. McKee, who also inherited all of the money that should have been hers. After a few weeks she stumbles upon a club where she hears his name, and decides to spend her nights there in hopes of meeting him. After a week she meets people who claim to know him and soon enough Betsy meets and starts dating McKee.
Oh, and she uses a fake name Honey Flood and pretends she’s a socialite whose had a breakdown in America and is in London for some therapy.
Plausible, I suppose.
Anyhoo, McKee is an upper class Brit who loathes anything not belonging to that sphere – and yet he insists on dating Betsy, criticising everything American about her. I suppose their banter and little quips about the other’s nationality were meant to be endearing and cute, but I merely found it either obnoxious or just plain offensive. Dundy did paint a rather accurate portrayal of the British upper class - as far as my experience goes (which isnt very far, I admit) – and that’s where some of the witticism lay; in Betsy’s analysis of them.
“The shabbier they look, the richer they are.”
It’s quite amazing (or is that amusing) that this is still true today.
All in all it was an ok read – not my cup of tea (to stay British), but I’m sure a lot of people enjoy it well enough for it to be considered a modern classic.