Betty-less in the Wild, But Oh! So Many Doctors!

The Southern Belle has had some endocrinological issues of late that have kept her tied to an IV tube for four hours every few weeks.  Yuck!  But the tests at world-renowned Johns Hopkins proved that her condition wasn't a symptom of blood cancer, which is what her condition usually is.  So yay!  Since her insurance is good, and the issue vexing, and the possibility of kidney failure uncomfortably real, when Baltimore and Boston's finest and most world-renowned endocrinologists were stumped, she decided to consult with the even-more-world-renowned Mayo Clinic team.

The Mayo people weren't sure how long they would need her, which made booking a flight tricky.  Unlike in Betty's world, in the S. Belle's world we don't just show up at the airport when we're ready to leave, brandishing a fistful of cash.  So she opted to drive, about 1,000 miles each way.  Since her condition results in frequent fatigue and occasional blurred vision, I insisted on co-piloting, which is how I wound up in Rochester, Minnesota, surrounded by medical men, women, buildings, schools, paraphernalia, procedures and substances.

But I forgot to bring any Bettys...  or did I?

The S.B. kisses her house-bunny bye-bye.

We made a pit stop in Pittsburgh on day one and found, amongst its many glories, a park full of flourishing magnolia trees.  Wait a minute -- magnolias blooming in late summer?!?

And actually, magnolias in Pittsburgh?!?

On very close inspection, we realized that the flowering trees were one of the many miracles of art the city offers.  They are sculpted in some sort of metal or resin, and we were very close indeed before we were convinced we were gazing on the work of human hands.

In which Betty did a louse get shipped to Pittsburgh to enjoy
artistic magnolias?

Three fair-sized rivers helped Pittsburgh to thrive in the 19th and 20th centuries.  Even today, you can see an occasional barge plying the Allegheny.  Or maybe the Ohio, or Monongahela.  But I'm pretty sure this one is the Allegheny.

Which Betty prominently features a barge?

We made about 700 miles on day one, and then pulled into a cheap motel somewhere between GARY, Indiana; Gary, INdiana; Gary, InDIANa and Chicago.  The restaurant next to the motel had a miniature replica of the Statue of Liberty.

Liberty, not necessarily of London.

After two days full of appointments, tests and procedures, the S.B. had a day off from medicos, and we used the break to visit Como Conservatory in Minneapolis.  Or maybe St. Paul.

The Japanese Garden is lovely, and, at moments, somewhat serene.

The Sunken Garden was my favorite.

We stuck closer to Rochester the next day, given appointments.  But we got to see a one-room schoolhouse and several other 19th-century buildings uprooted from their original sites and brought to the Olmsted County Historical Center.

Why were no Betty heroines teachers?

We also made it to Mayowood, the extensive mansion begun in the early 20th century by Dr. Charles H. Mayo, younger son of Dr. William W. Mayo.  W.W. founded the clinic in partnership with Mother Alfred Moes, a Roman Catholic nun who had worked with him to care for victims of an 1883 tornado.  Two of W.W.'s sons joined the clinic, which thrived over the next few decades; who knows why.  Rochester was not a center of anything, nor is it close to anything vital.  But after dad's retirement in the 90s (he died in 1911), the Mayo brothers, called 'Dr. Will' and 'Dr. Charlie,' grew ever more famous and were consulted by presidents and kings and celebrities etc.

Somewhere I heard or read that Dr. Mayo taught his children that to die rich was to fail in one's duty to humanity, and at some point the brothers turned the clinic -- a multi-doctor partnership -- into a not-for-profit enterprise.  Before that, though, Dr. Will told his brother that he ought to have an impressive house, to give patients confidence in his medical skill.  So Dr. Charlie and his wife built Mayowood.  There's no photography allowed inside, so you'll have to check it out yourself.  It's supposed to be glorious at Christmastime.

Three generations of Mayos lived here, but then they couldn't
afford it anymore.  That's what happens when you believe in
dying broke.  Or at least middle-class.

Final question:  which four books are featured here, and why?

Sister Peters in Amsterdam--1969

The Great Betty Neels wasn't a spring chicken when she took up writing. I don't know if she always scribbled here and there. I don't know if she knocked out random chapters of books that never went anywhere and sat in the bottom of some drawer somewhere. (Someday we may uncover a missing manuscript for a Betty Neels space opera, I'm sure of it.) The way she tells it, she simply overheard someone telling a librarian that there weren't enough good romance novels and a switch was flipped on inside her. One day she was a nurse and another day she was a writer. If she was half as hard-working and dedicated to her nursing as she was to her books, she must have been amazing. Her first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam begins, "It was one o'clock; the corridor leading from the main hospital to the children's unit was very quiet." The rest is history.

Adelaide Peters is the baby whisperer. She's a nice looking redhead of 25 and a capable sister in charge of Children's Emergency and Outpatients. When little darlings are recalcitrant or fussed or inconveniently damp Sister Peters dons her Lasso of Truth and her Deflecting Wristbands, hops into her Invisible Jet and rules that ward. She has a minister father, twin brothers, Matthew and Mark (love it!), for whom she sends school fees and monetary help home and a mother who live off in the country somewhere.
When Baron Professor Coenraad Blankenaar Van Essen visits her ward and tours the facilities he is secretly checking her suitability (and her statistics) for a one-year nurse exchange program. Don't start asking pesky questions like, "But, Betty Keira, wouldn't it be medically unsafe to put a woman in charge of sick children under emergency conditions when she doesn't speak a common language with them or their distraught parents?" To which I answer, 'She's the baby whisperer. Just go with it.'
And then she's off to Holland!
Adelaide has agreed to go because the professor is hot. Sure, sure, international travel, broadened horizons, foreign language mastery...that's all there too. But lest we forget: The Professor is HOT.
The structure is a little unusual in this book so I'll take this in seasons.
Fall:
Arrival and re-acquaintance with hot doctor. We are introduced to the character Freule Margriet Keizer, a shadowy figure initially, who seems to see a lot of the good doctor. Addy struggles with the difficult language and muddles her verbs charmingly but proves herself as a dedicated nurse and a sensible woman.
Winter:
The Great Neels uses this opportunity to chuck every Dutch tradition in the pot like a very well-bred mulligan stew. During the feast of Saint Nicolaas we meet Zwarte Piet, Nicolaas' 'black slave' (okey-doke), and Addy meets Margriet. Addy isn't in love yet so her hopes aren't precisely dashed but she does like Coenraad enough to feel sorry that he's taken. (Girlfriend, a wise woman once said, 'If you like it then you should have put a ring on it. Oh, oh, oh.')
On New Year's Eve she is invited to his aunt's house for a party--the first time he will see her out of uniform! How disappointing then to be looked at as though she were an advertisement for Lawn Aeration or Carpet Installation. She is angry with him--incensed that he is non-responsive to her considerable feminine whiles. Thus she embarks on a curious one-sided courtship. No actual attempts at wooing are made, but she assumes the right to hate him (when he brushes her off) and Margriet (when she...acts like herself) nonetheless. I am put in mind of that movie The Mouse That Roared wherein the tiny country, in a bid to recover economically when a California vineyard knocks off their only export, declares war with America only to have a difficult time being noticed at all.
Or Pepe Le Pew making violent love to a flower pot. I'm put in mind of that too...
Either way, Addy has her moment of flashing realization that night. She is in love with the Professor. (Smacks head) That's why I want to scratch Margriet's eyes out!
The Betty Neels I know and love could wrap things up within days or weeks of such an event but if I may draw your attention to the YEAR-LONG CONTRACT Addy signed...We've still got the better part of two more seasons to traverse.
Addy gets lost in a blizzard (in a city!), is rescued by you-know-who with the medical degree and smashing bedside manner, and weathers some blistering cattiness from Margriet who has attached herself to the Professor like an oxpecker on a rhino's backside (only less willing to eat ticks). Think she's going to roll over and let another symbiotic relationship develop under her nose? Nuh-uh.
Ice-skating also occurs in this Dutch winter and Coenraad engineers some quality time with his best nurse out on the ice.
Spring:
She discovers, by asking her elderly Dutch teacher, the Sad Tale of the Orphan Boy or How the Professor Lost His Eyesight in One Eye. I won't ruin it but it involves Nazis, prison camp, loyal servants and the Late Unpleasantness.
The Professor takes her to tea where she discovers that he is a baron. "...don't you approve of titles?" "Well of course I do," replied Addy in just the right tone for someone hailing from a country governed by a constitutional monarchy. This American Betty might have replied to that selfsame question, "Ordinarily and theoretically, no. Romantically and interestingly, yes." Is there anything more drear and cheerless than those awful French novels wherein they call each other Citizen and Citizeness? Gag.
But this presents a problem for Addy. Bad enough that the Professor is rich. Worse that he's nobility. A country parson's daughter would have to be insane to reach that high. (Had she not heard of The King and the Beggar Maid?)
But then he kisses her thoroughly and she kisses him back.
Had she not just discovered his Adel-ness and wealth, this story might have ended there. As it is, she tells him not to say anything. So much better to be swamped by eddying waves of confusion and doubt when a conversational air blower could have mucked that gutter out in a jiff.
In the spring a young man's thoughts turn to lorries full of scrap iron, oil tankers and bus accidents. (Thank Betty for a stunning visual.) Addy makes a heroic rescue in tight quarters and Coenraad, in turn, rescues her.
Summer:
Coenraad invites all the nurses out to his family compound for a picnic. The cable-knit sweaters, deck shoes, and bon fires practically drip off the page in a sort of amalgam of all the Kennedy clan's more glamorously wholesome activities. Coenraad and Addy swim out to a floating platform where he tells her about his eye and about how he's always hoping for a miracle.
"How did you find out that I knew?"
"You always stand on my good side when we're at work."
Aww. That's how you know they're meant for each other.
He invites her to travel with him to England. (Does he know she can't afford the fare?) After assuring herself that the trip won't include an overnight stop in Brighton (I heart Betty.), she agrees to come.
Not much time and energy are wasted on England. Addy makes an apple pie. Coenraad charms her parents. Father gives him some advice (we don't find out what) which Coenraad plans on taking. (A handy-dandy Fortune Cookie Generator tells us that it is, 'Your emotional nature is strong and sensitive.' Spot on. Eerie.)
On the trip back we find that her social life in Holland has been a bit dire. She had one ill-fated trip out with two rowdy doctors, one dance and mild chat-up with Brocade Waistcoat Fellow and what she thought would be a safe night out to a concert with Dr. Vos, an aged widower who will probably have his teeth punched in by Coenraad due to some lecherous advances made on the future Baroness Van Essen.
Then Addy, desperate to put some distance between herself and Coenraad, accepts a date with Brocade Waistcoat Fellow. The next day a fellow doctor, upon hearing who her date was, exclaims, 'Couldn't you do better than that?'
Erm.......no.
It's been nearly a year and between three lechers and a bad dresser she chose the lesser of evils. Better a Brocade Waistcoat than Wandering Hands, my mom always said.
But maybe the Professor agrees that Addy should have been able to do better. He asks her to the hospital ball and in a flurry of excitement she spends some carefully saved money on a dress. Her quiet elation is burst when Margriet, laying in wait like a jungle cat, pounces on her "by chance" (fat chance) outside the hospital.
Margriet: Hey, girlfriend. We should hang out more.
Addy: Why are your eyes turning red?
Margriet: I'm so glad that I twisted Coenraad's arm to ask you to the ball. You've only had that Carnival Freak Show asking you out so...
Addy: Huh. Don't mind that. It's the sound of my heart fracturing irrevocably. You were saying...?
Margriet: And I thought this totally uncharacteristic kindness on my part would be rewarded with the Heirloom Sapphire engagement ring! And it was!
Addy: Where is it?
Margriet: Jewelers. I'm having it reforged in the fires of Mount Doom into an exact copy of Sauron's ring--The Demon Lord of Mordor! Bye!
Addy must break the date now. She fakes a toothache--possibly the most unromantic of excuses (short of going nuclear. You know what I mean... Women's problems.)--and cancels. And then she decides she must go home. Even though it is a few weeks shy of her contract, she asks for permission to leave.
She gets all the way to his aunt's house (Where better to kill time while simultaneously avoiding Coenraad and waiting for the train?) when in walks Coenraad. He's furious and ready to drag her back to the hospital by her hair.
But somehow he manages to ask her to stay on until Friday (uh...okay) and has her explain what all that, "I hope you and Margriet are happy together, forever, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G" stuff was all about.
White faced and pinched, she allows him to dictate the terms of her dismissal.
On the day of her final departure, he waylays her in the hall, drags her off to somewhere private enough (a city square outside a church?) and gets his proposing over with at last. "I've been in love with you from the start!" Really!? Public snogging and firm wedding plans.
The End


Rating: Since this was her first effort some of the Neels-isms are light on the ground. The hero is wonderful (glasses and a depth perception problem!) and the heroine is (she hates this word) sensible. I like it. Still, it takes a long time getting going and the time frame (one whole year) is more reality based than novel based (there's a reason Romeo and Juliette takes less than a week from end to end). I was a little irked that it spanned that entire time and Coenraad didn't make his feelings more plain. However, the last 10 pages make it all worth it even if making her stay for three more days before she could leave was weird and unnecessary. I give it a boeuf en croute for originality and the spot of semi-blindness.

Fashion: Dainty frilled cap, velvet dress with chestnut brown hair bow, a green coat and hat that get serious mileage, a white bathing cap with a ridiculous fringe and a 'despised' black swimsuit, an unused turquoise blue raw silk ball gown. The professor proposes in a 'car coat'.

Food: Savory tidbits, hot chestnuts (I think I need to try some), potato chips, milkless tea, creamy cake, lobster patties, chicken legs, tiny pork pies, apple pie and chicken mousse (hm).

The Most Marvelous Summer--1991

The Most Marvelous Summer has less than a marvelous title. Never mind that. It's a unique little gem of a story. It's maybe not the best but it takes our Standard-issue Brit Doctor character and peeks behind his magic curtain.When we meet Matilda ffinch (Yes. ffinch. Double ffs. No caps. Surely the folks at Ellis Island would not have let that stand.) she is already in love with the fellow on the other side of the church aisle. At 26, she is a gorgeous redhead with more than a few broken hearts behind her but that's never troubled her overmuch as Mr. Outstanding was not among them.
Her job is as social secretary to the local lady of the manor, Lady Fox, whose snobbery and pretension don't manage to squash Matilda's magnificence. She bustles and trots and sorts her way through her working day and wickedly reminds herself that if anyone has the right to be snobby it's a ffinch over a Fox.
Consultant Surgeon James Scott-Thurlow (Dear me. First double ffs and now a hyphen. Mathilda is about to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire. If she were a progressive lass would that make her Ms. ffinch-Scott-Thurlow?...I so digress.) sees her at the Fox manor and then again as he offers her a lift. Matilda isn't about to let the opportunity slip through her fingers. She interrogates him. He snubs her. She is crushed.
Oh. And he's engaged.
She must be wondering right about now if any of the men she declined to marry in the past might just be Mr. Fine or Mr. Passable or Mr. Adequate-Par.
When Roseanne, one of three pock-marked 'unfortunate nose'-ed daughters of the opinionated Lady Fox, has to travel up to London to find someone to marry it is Matilda who must screw her red hair into a French pleat and play chaperone. Lady Fox has some misgivings about sending a babe like Mathilda to engineer Roseanne's social success but there is simply no one else to be had...at the price.
Happily, Roseanne is not so much of a snob and (with a careful make-up) not too pock-marked that she can't attract one passable male. She and Bernard fall in love over paintings at the National Gallery.
And it is in another gallery (Roseanne does like to dabble) that Matilda stumbles upon James. He looks up from his cardboard fiancee' and sees Matilda and is angry (at Fate) and cold.
Their next encounter seems worse. She is rescuing a dog in the gutter when she hears, 'Oh, dear, oh, dear, Miss ffinch helping lame dogs...' How dare she have the gall to be his ideal woman. He's as nasty as possible but rescues the dog with promptitude. In return he receives an 'emerald blaze of gratitude'. This is a fine way to avoid her siren song, he must be thinking. I was perfectly horrid to her!
On the strength of that blaze, he decides to go to a dinner party that he had refused to accompany Rhoda to, just on the chance that she'll be there. That's how it starts, ladies. Just one little gateway drug and soon you're spiraling into Reefer Madness.
The next time they meet I will call The Curious Case of the Severed Fingers. The cook...gah. I can't even say--I think I'm turning green. Anyway, the upshot is that James ends up catching Matilda's barf in a hospital bucket and she ends up cooking for a dinner party that he attends later in the evening. He's furious to find her cooking when she ought to be at the party.
Instead of telling you every little thing, I'm tempted to wash my hands and just say that if their meetings were a category on Jeopardy, this series of events would be an entire column titled: Things That Rhoda Can't Do. (I'll take "Products Rhoda Lacquers Her Hair With" for a thousand, Alex.)
We get such an interesting little detour on the part of The Venerable Betty at this point. She actually tells us WHY our rich doctor is engaged to marry an iceberg and also why he is so aloof and severe:
He had been an only child and had lost his parents in a plane crash when he had been a small boy. He had gone to live with his grandparents, who had loved him dearly but had not known what to say to him, so he had learned to hide his loneliness and unhappiness and had grown up into a rather quiet man who seldom allowed his feelings to show...
(Grab the tissues!) But he's let Matilda see some feelings, albeit unpleasant ones.
Back home, Mathilda decides to sack the inferior Foxes from her services. Roseanne trips down the historical staircase and fractures an arm and double fractures a leg. (Hey, we're going to need a consultant surgeon for that!) I guess the resignation will have to wait.
She nurses Roseanne for another couple of weeks and then is free...for a minute or two. James comes to her house and asks her to companion some random old man--his grandfather in fact. If James is disturbed by her presence (and he is), he's doing an awful job protecting himself.
A man of reserve, not given to impulse, he kissed the face so temptingly close...
And that's the dynamic. She doesn't make him feel very comfortable but he can't resist her either.
James avoids her, or tries to.
Matilda spends her time vacillating between wanting to give Rhoda tips on How To Make The Doctor Happy and having violent daydreams about pulling her hair out by the roots.
They have a beautiful row I won't ruin for you when he returns to his grandparent's house and finds her STILL there. (He'd most likely spent his time away lecturing himself about that kiss and the dangers of consorting with splendid redheads.)
Her next job is at a girls' boarding school...where a darling little poppet named Lucy loves her best. When James shows up at the end of term to collect Lucy is it any surprise? He's her godfather. Rhoda is with him and for the first time this proverb applies: When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war.
Rhoda sees the enemy for what she is and the insults (instead of being a matter of bad manners) start flying in earnest.
By some slim chance, nobody slaps anybody's face.
Matilda is once more jobless but The Great Betty reaches into her knapsack of communicable diseases and pulls out mumps. Rotten luck, little Lucy. Your appearance and health are what Oscar winners would call 'the little people'.
James continues making regular trips to The Land of Cognitive Dissonance wherein the engineering he engages in to meet Matilda regularly is a train that runs on the same track as his denial that his efforts mean anything special.
As she nurses Lucy back to health, James discovers himself anew. He baits Matilda constantly and finds that he enjoys it enormously. How now, Lonely Boy?
When Rhoda, like some Evil Flying Monkey, swoops in to tell Matilda that James plans to send her to the country for further convalescence, she shouts, "I don't know why I put up with it." "Yes, you do, Matilda." And that's when we know that James finally knows the stakes of the game. He loves her. He knows she loves him. We posses our souls in patience.
The remainder comprises:

• The cottage. (Wherein her daydreams are 'peopled by a horde of little Scott-Thurlows' and every time he leaves the kissing gets better!)
• Leaving the cottage. (He wants to tell her something but she's sure he's playing fast and loose.)
• The day she reads of his broken engagement in the newspaper. (And rushes off to see him. But wait. What's that in the rear-view mirror?)
• Kissing!

The End


Rating: I really enjoy this one mostly because La Neels gives us a little more back-story to work with on the hero. He's got some baggage (no, not Rhoda) and even though she's just a clergyman's daughter with a spotty work history, she's clearly in a position to save her Prince Charming. That the Great Betty executes this upside down fairy tale in such a deft way (our hero is still doing the pursuing even if she is slaying his dragons) is a tribute to her skill as a writer. The beginning eddies around in a flotam-manner but the middle and end are...ahem...marvelous. It's not in the her very best work but I totally give The Most Marvelous Summer a boeuf en croute.

Food: Shepherd's pie, a bacon, egg and mushroom breakfast, lardy cake (I've had this!), warm cake (so much better than mucking it up with frosting after it's cooled), watercress soup, toad-in-the-hole, garlic mushrooms, fruit pie and clotted cream. (YUM.)

Fashion: Subdued grey crepe (to off-set the hair), flowery skirts, a rather Thornbirds-sounding white chemise dress that he ogles her in. Rhoda wears vivid scarlet, cherise (must google that color) and green satin. She also wears a scarlet suede jacket over black dress in the country! Lady Fox wears awful headgear, the zenith of which seems to be a floppy tweed hat.

An Innocent Bride--1999

First the title. An Innocent Bride. Ho hum. A total throw-away. Harlequin clearly didn't know what to do with Betty Neels at this point and was trying to signal readers with semaphore flags, neon signs and traffic cones that this book wouldn't have anybody mucking about in Brighton. But it makes our heroine sound a simp...which she is not. No, the book should have been titled The Moss Rose or Aunt Thirza's Legacy or Love and Leukaemia...

Katrina Gibbs, 24 with masses of dark hair, is sprawling across the country road in all her splendid glory. A motorcyclist driving on the wrong side of the road (Horrid American? But I repeat myself...) has knocked her over and smashed her bike.
Enter the great socking Bentley.
Professor Simon Glenville, 'knocking 40' (39), haematologist at St. Aldrick's and rescuer of fair, young maidens happens upon her, plucks her up and carries her back to Rose Cottage where she lives with her aunt Miss Thirza Gibbs--a retired girl's school headmistress and a woman of prickly disposition and rigid principles who never heard a 'Ms.' in her life and would have given it a frigid stare if she had.
Katrina and Simon and Aunt Thirza get off to such a rough start that it's as though they, all three of them, were hapless British bicycles and Fate an ill-mannered American motorcycle.
When Aunt Thirza (an actual Hebrew name meaning pleasantness and delight...instead of ironclad and unchangeable) is referred to a doctor is it really any surprise that her condition needs the leading haematologist in the history of the British realm?
Naturally, she is going to die. And naturally, no one tells her so. Instead of telling the grown woman that she might die of lymphatic leukaemia at any time they tell her she has Anaemia--a universal catch-all disease that will mask the symptoms of her failing health without alarming her in any way. They don't send you to medical school for years on end to tell the naked truth, evidently.
This gives Katrina and Simon an excuse to meet again and for her to weep (again--the American motorcyclist was upsetting) all over his cloth hankies (which she promises to launder and give back).
Simon brings Aunt Thirza, whom he has decided he rather likes, a moss rose for her garden that is already in bud even though it isn't the season to transplant that sort of thing. Dear me. Plants and fatal diseases. If you're thinking of O. Henry's The Last Leaf, well then, so am I. But we don't have to wait until the last blossom withers on the bush for Aunt Thirza to shuffle off her mortal coil. She passes on in idyllic tranquility, possibly thinking that those iron pills were woefully inadequate and intending to pen a stern letter of rebuke to the head of the NHS.
Simon is off on a lecture tour and Katrina finds that during the funeral hubbub she misses his presence most. A head scratcher.
When he does finally find out he hares off to Rose Cottage in time for tears and mucked up lawn hankerchiefs (with attendant and inevitable promises of laundering). He has sensibly brought a meal from (prepare yourself for the best homehelp name ever) Mrs. Peach. He is unable to pin Katrina down on her future plans and as he leaves his parthian shot is to tell her not to marry a fortune hunter.
Fortune hunter. (Snort.) That would require a fortune at the very least, no? Katrina has a few hundred pounds, Rose Cottage, the extensive kitchen garden and...and a fat lot of good it does her. Aunt Thirza, though lovely enough to provide a home for the orphaned 12-year-old (a plane crash carried off the poor parents. Possibly the plane also carried a oily South American gigolo and a run-away Dutch wife needing to be offed for a future Neels novel?), did not exactly launch her wee chick out of the nest with bankable skills.
In a sensible manner, Katrina decides to become a field laborer by day and a respectable lady of leisure by late-afternoon. Aunt Thirza, mindful of proprieties, would have approved. Simon does not.
Coming upon Katrina while dropping Maureen (oh, have I not mentioned that bit of under-rock ooze? Just wait.) at the manor, he grasps one of her work-roughened hands and presents his findings. '...working on a farm, Katrina?...Grubbing potatoes, picking peas and strawberries?' Oh for the love of...What is he, Sherlock Holmes?
And now for Maureen--bright as a penny and twice as cheap. She is a doctor on his medical team--recently joined--and has sights set on Simon. Any actual meddling she does is fairly incidental. A wee spot of water muddying is all. But, in An Innocent Bride, we are privy to the Machinations of Maureen wherein the villainess plots to annex the dear doctor with false displays of keenness, sympathy, helplessness, charity, distress, unreliable cars and an unbelievable cluelessness about the world of public transport. Neither Simon nor Katrina are ever over-vexed by them (though Katrina does think that Maureen is a front-runner for the hand of Fair Simon due to his willingness to shuttle her about) but it is very entertaining to watch her try so hard.
Maureen meets Katrina (always the correct niece of Miss Thirza) running the bottle stall at the village fete. Of course Maureen wins something. 'I always win.' Well, dust off your cosmic irony, kitten. When this hits the fan, Katrina is going to get the most delightful case of schadenfreude ever.
In the mean time, Simon cooks up a plot. He has a little patient with leukaemia (not the same kind as Aunt Thirza) who needs a rest in the country and he also has Katrina desperately in need of agricultural-grade hand cream and a good manicure. As quick as Bob's your uncle he's got little Tracy (with mother Molly) living with Katrina all financed by the lightening fast and flexible bureaucracy of the NHS!
Seriously, she swallows it. Two birds, one stone.
Tracy gives Simon just the reason he needs to keep visiting. (He's always hiding behind cancer victims to do his courting but just go with it.) He does get her alone for a date at Stourhead and a spot of canoodling but this is a rarity.
Instead, the village grapevine pairs Maureen and Simon. 'But he needs a wife like me!' thinks Katrina. Will you look at that. Imagine leaving a dawning realization lying about where just anyone can trip over it...
Little Tracy is deemed 'well enough' to move out. Katrina finds a job as a part-time librarian/seller of home-grown produce. Things settle.
And then Simon tells her that he's in love with her and...shhhhhh, baby, baby, shhhhhhhh...he'd just like to drop in now and then. Shhhhhhh. 'No, don't say anything, just bear it in mind.'
Don't mess things up by thinking she should have set him straight right then and there. There's another 30 pages to go before the contract is fulfilled.
A fire at the manor more firmly roots Katrina's awesomeness and Maureen's deviousness in our imaginations.
A storm occurs in which Katrina is the teensiest bit weenie.
Simon carries her off to his parents' house (He has parents?!) where he introduces her as their future daughter-in-law.
Proposal. (Ahem. The bit about the cart and the horse applies, methinks.)
A rather nice wedding follows wherein she carries a bouquet of moss roses (awww, Aunt Thirza) and Maureen is banished to India.
The End.


Rating: As a whole this book is just somewhere in the middle. The best bits revolved around the horrid Maureen. It's as though La Neels is finally giving us chapter and verse on How Shallow, Awful Girl Nabs Rich Kind Doctor thus filling in the back-story on almost all Engaged RDD plots. Why would a nice well-to-do doctor get himself caught by the Vapid Undead? Refer to the Maureen template and footnotes.
Aunt Thirza's death is handled beautifully. When I die, I'd like to go that way.
The theme is also a winner. Katrina, brought up rigidly by a circumspect spinster, is bound by Aunt Thirza's formality to express her love in a sort of Remains of the Day repressed smolder.
So, I give it a Treacle Tart. It's not brilliant but it does have some unique touches.

Food: eggs, potted shrimps, rack of lamb, rhubarb fool (how can you turn down a rhubarb fool?), almond buscuits, farmhouse cake, orangeade, lemonade, bacon and egg pie, cheese straws, fish cakes, smoked salmon, tiny pancakes with chopped chicken, cold meat and salad, bad sherry, good wine, cucumber and orange salad.

Fashion: Dateless beige coat, jersey dress (!), his cashmere sweater (The Great Neels fails to sell me on the idea of our heroes in sweaters), cream and amber crepe, a positively life-saving rose-patterned frock.

Heidelberg Wedding--1984

I almost never re-read Heidelberg Wedding. The cover art bothers me. Eugenia looks like Isabella Rossellini in choir robes (and not in a good way), Heidelberg (behind them) appears as if it's been invaded by a barbarian horde, systematically lit on fire and left to smolder, and Gerard looks as though he's about to deliver devastating news about an accident on the M6 involving all her nearest loved ones and an articulated lorry. Epic fail, Harlequin. And then there's the end which I thought I hated. This is the book I'm about to bestow a Queen of Puddings rating on? Heck yes.

Sister Eugenia Smith, 26, Ward Sister at St. Clare's, has been walking sedately down the center aisle of her ward towards her Destiny for three years. Each meeting, she fetches up before it with an unruffled air, hands it her notes and precedes to do a round with it all to the lament of her stalwart right hand, Hatty. 'What a waste of all that attractiveness,' thinks Hatty. 'They ought to have fallen in love at first sight.'
Hatty the Handmaiden also thinks that Senior Consultant Surgeon Gerard "Destiny" Grenfell (36-ish) and Eugenia are both throwing themselves away on unsuitable fiancees. Eugenia has been engaged for one and a half parsimonious years to Humphrey Parsons, a man whose very name mirrors his smug and retentive nature. Hatty dismisses Gerard's fiancee' Miriam (yet another Miriam villainess! What gives, Betty?) as 'a beanpole of a blonde'. You, gentle reader, may also dismiss her. She speaks not one word anywhere and, if one takes into account her black sheath clothing and shadowy persona, there is a slim possibility that she might also be a ninja assassin.
Humphrey has been spending the last several years making Eugenia feel bad about spending her own money and feeding her on a steady diet of chicken and chips and beer. He has a deathly fear of the cheap, living-in-a-flatlet, Ikea phase of married life (Allenwrenchaphobia) which has turned him into a miser. His placemats will match and his reproduction Victorian furniture will shout in decorous tones "I have arrived and am running to fat already" but life with him will be un-fun. And then he has the cheek to tell her she's a bit heavy. (Oh no he didn't!) Not only does Eugenia need a Tums, she also needs to offload that ball and chain.
So when, one day, after a quiet ward round, Gerard (not Butler, but you're welcome) rips up the diet sheet that Humphrey painstakingly copied down with a 'Bunkum and balderdash!' she sits up and takes notice. When he follows that with a cryptic sounding, "Two safely engaged people, aren't we, Sister?...There is, of course, many a slip between the cup and the lip" we take notice. Where was the triggering event? What made him figure out, after meeting her sedately in the aisle for three long years that she was the girl for him--because that's what we've just learned. Neels implies that something set things in motion off-stage and that his dawning realization has already and recently occurred. This will be a follow-up post all its own.
Gerard, who, as established, is already smitten, is playing the long game. He invites her to accompany him to the Algarve to assist him on a V.I.P. surgery. Of course she will but when she drops the bomb on Humphrey (which I am tempted to spell Harumph-rey...okay, now I have to) he sulks. 'Mother wouldn't like it at all', he points out. If you're tempted to adopt a nasal-y baby-like voice and mutter 'Mother wouldn't like it at all' under your breath, you would find yourself in charity with Eugenia who is not much pleased with him.
The Algarve:
They save a woman's life. Calloo-Callay!
They visit many tourist attractions together.
He asks her to call him Gerard which in Neels-land is definitely First Base. (In the world-at-large calling someone by their Christian name is more like warming up in the Bullpen but The Mighty Neels weights it fairly heavily in the trajectory of a relationship.)
He continues making delightful comments, chock-a-block with double-meaning: "I can assure you that Eugenia will not be wasted."
They save the life of another young man who has slipped and fallen into a cave. Gerard has just declared that he found heaven when they hear a moaning in the rocks. He laughingly pops down the hole and she pops down after him. That's when she hears the skittering in the dark. Eeek! One is tempted to mis-quote Indiana Jones. Rats. I hate rats. Why did it have to be rats? But some cajoling insults and one shredded belt later find them back on solid ground again where she quickly apologizes for her mild case of fear-of-having-her-limbs-chewed-to-bloody-stumps-by-rodents. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grenfell, what a wretched little beast I am. Shall I take his legs?" Is that aplomb I see? I know. You love her too.
Later that evening she runs into him again as she's leaving the dining room. "I considered taking you to supper, but decided against it...I think that in the circumstances it would be a stupid thing to do." Naturally she gets into a snit. She had rather hoped that he would want to take her to dinner after heaving her bodily up through a hole. (I know I'd expect dinner.) And she's puzzled to pinpoint the moment when her view of him changed from a benign lack of interest (and faint pity, as he was going to marry a ninja assassin) to being piqued by his desertion.
Still, when she returns to London she can't wait to find Harumph-rey. But like opening the last can of Root Beer and discovering it's gone flat, Eugenia's eager anticipation fizzles. Harumph-rey has to be coaxed and managed and ego-massaged back into good humor--or what passes for good humor--with more chicken and chips and beer.
The Pay Packet:
When Eugenia receives an unexpected wind-fall, she knows just what she ought to do. She ought to take it straight away to the bank where it can carefully, prudently, cautiously accrue interest which she will withdraw only on the eve of her wedding to pay, in-full, for a tumble-dryer or stiff-backed parlor couch in a distressing shade of powder blue. But Gerard tells her to blow it on a dress for the Spring Ball. Even Father and the twins (oh, did I not mention them?) tell her to blow it. How can Harumph-rey mind when it isn't even part of her regular salary?
So she buys a dream of a dress with a distant neckline and a full skirt and slippers to match. Mr. Grenfell will be dazzled. Harumph-rey is predictably scandalized. Any good ladies-man worth his stipend will tell you that it is impolitic to begin a compliment with a question. i.e. 'Where did you get that?' 'What on earth are you wearing?' 'How much did it cost?' etc. It leaves so little room for retrenchment.
She all but beans him with a slipper and marches off to the dance where Mr. Grenfell, there with his black-sheathed Little String-Bean, wastes no time whisking her off to dance and dine. A lovely night.
Mother:
Harumph-rey is not only suffering under the handicap of Bad-Personality Disorder (BPD--'If you or any of your loved ones are suffering from BPD...Side effects include nausea, vomiting, incontinence, loss of spine...') but also from Suffocating Mother Syndrome. Mrs. Parsons flutters and twitters over her boy like a rescue chopper over a ship wreck. Eugenia loathes it but endures silently until the day she finds out that Mother intends to move in with them after they marry. (Comesaywha...?) So, let me just get this right, Harumph-rey. (pinches forehead) Eugenia has been scrimping not only for her beans-on-toast future you offer but for a cozy retirement for Mother as well?
Cast into turmoil and gloom, Eugenia turns to her father for advice. It's original, I'll give him that. But pinning your marital happiness on the death of a close relative might lead one to being marched off to the clink and having late-night interrogations regarding accidentally fatal drug interactions.
And where is Gerard during all of this? Just when she needs a vast, attractive shoulder to cry on he's gone missing. Though I am editorializing a bit, I think it's clear that he's decided to let her work out her own salvation without his interference.
But that doesn't last too long. Soon he's back again, captivating her family, walking her through his bluebell wood and violently flirting with her. Lovely bits, each.
Harumph-rey continues his (to quote The Founders) 'long train of abuses and usurpations' when he barges into her ward during an emergency to demand that she come to the theatre with him as their free (ugh) theatre tickets expire in 30 minutes. (I'm seeing a three-year-old having a very noisy tantrum in the candy aisle here.) It is the perfect storm of parsimony, selfishness, and disregard for her career. A Trifecta of Ruin.
Later, after a typically awful visit with his mother, she walks smack into Gerard. Seeing she is in a bad temper, he suggests a moonlit drive and takes her to his cottage where he fills her arms with lilacs. (Pause. Deep cleansing breaths. In. Out.) Lilacs.
By now, it is clear to her that her life is upside down and in one last bid to right it again she makes a scandalous proposition to Harumph-rey.
BRIGHTON! (dum, dum, dum, dum!)
'This is that one!' Betty Keira shouted to her confused Mijnheer van Voorhees. 'This is the one where she asks him to go away for the weekend to have implied non-conjugal relations!' This means that Heidelberg Wedding qualifies, hands down, as the raciest novel in the entire Neels canon. Harumph-rey's only response is, 'I don't agree with pre-marital relationships. I'm glad Mother didn't hear you say that, she would have been profoundly shocked!'
'I'm a bit shocked myself,' replies Eugenia, who, if she were running a shop, would be reported to the Better Business Bureau for fraud. False advertising at least. She isn't that kind of girl and she knew Harumph-rey isn't that kind of boy. It was a safe offer and would be safely rejected. Still, he brought up his mother! Uncool, dude.
Gerard asks her, since she seems interested in a holiday, to go to his cottage with his housekeeper (who is recovering from an illness). She agrees and sees neither hide nor hair of Harumph-rey (which doesn't fuss her much) or Gerard (which does).
When he collects her at the end of the week, she is rested and bonny and almost...almost swimming into the rocky shoals of dawning realization.
She endures one more tortuous date with Harumph-rey wherein his discussion of lowered interest rates extended by his building society kill any withering feelings of love stone dead. The blight of his insufficiency has ruined her potato crop for the last time.
Only days later, she sees Mr. Grenfell and knows that a bony String Bean would not do him at all. If anyone is going to love him to distraction, Eugenia would rather it be herself.
Which makes breaking her engagement a necessity. "I'm not surprised," commented Mr. Grenfell placidly. "You're not a girl to marry one of the Humphrey's of this world." I'll say.
Heidelberg:
And so we come to Heidelberg at last--evidently the Las Vegas of Europe. They save a life, nursing techniques are discussed, and castle ruins are explored. While in the castle chapel he leads her into a discussion about weddings and adds how easy, if you have the money (150 pounds), it is to get married in this Wee Chapel of Love...
He also finds out that pomp and circumstance is not important to her when she marries--that she loves the small-ish chapel enough to daydream a little.
Her:"Why do you look like that?"
Him:"Like what?"
"Smug! As though you'd thought of something nice."
"Nice, nice--what an inadequate word, rather let's say shatteringly delightful!"
He tells her later that Miriam the Silent Assassin has been dispatched by an American Tycoon (the best kind of tycoon for taking String Beans off a fellow's hands), then surprises her with a proposal and abrupt (3 minutes later!) walk down the aisle. I used to hate that ending but find that, upon re-reading, it's grown on me. Gerard is awesome enough to carry it off and I rather like the idea of the news of their nuptials springing on Harumph-rey with the speed and ferocity of a mountain wolverine.
The End

Rating: I loved Gerard--everything about him. The change jingling in his pocket, his paperback thrillers, his career enthusiasm for changing things around in the ward, his stealthy courtship of her family...He is so fleshed out and so awesome. He laughs all the time (though he trots out the bland face too) and has a ton of fun. We get so much more of his perspective than an occasional glint in his eye so that when he does haul her off unceremoniously to the alter it is easy to forgive him. I loved her too. She takes a long time to figure out her feelings but The Great Betty has handled the transition from Harumph-rey to Gerard so deftly that Eugenia doesn't seem inconstant or lame. Father and the twins, though in a lot of scenes, still feel shadowy to me and La Neels doesn't wrap their story up at all--they still live in London, where they don't want to live, at the end. Shrug. Queen of Puddings! I left so so so much wonderful material from this book out of the review because there was too much. This one will get a much better rotation from me in the future.

Fashion: The rich burgundy taffeta with the neckline that Harumph-rey hates (and Gerard loves). Miriam in the predictable black satin sheath. Nurse's uniforms. A jersey dress and cardigan.

Food: chicken Marengo, chicken and chips and beer (with Humphrey), octopus in tomato sauce (that he doesn't tell her about until she pronounces it good--dirty pool, I say), Madronho, boiled cod and shrimp sauce, Yorkshire pudding and roast beef (with Humphrey's unimaginative mother), chocolate cake oozing cream, rhubarb jam, custard tarts, shepherd pie, bacon and eggs, fishcakes, roast chicken, bread sauce (???), baked potatoes

Matilda's Wedding - 2000

Dr. Henry Lovell is interviewing for a new receptionist to replace the irreplaceable Miss Brimble. Matilda Paige is rather a new-comer to the village and has applied for the post. During the interview they have some thoughts:
Him: Well, she certainly won't be a distraction with those looks...
Her: I love him and I'm not intimidated by him. Yes, I'll start immediately.
Dr. Lovell (I keep thinking of Apollo 13...) lives in a pleasant old house in Much Winterlow - his family has lived in it for generations. He could have a fancy post in London, but he prefers to be a GP in the village. There is one fly in the ointment. He is engaged to a haughty piece. All's fair in love and war, thinks Matilda...
Which is pretty much the same attitude her mum has about her. At least the "all's fair" part. The family Paige has recently moved to this rural village due to dad's medical retirement- so instead of being a big fish in a small pond, Mrs. Paige is now a small fish in a smaller pond. The Reverend Mr. Paige, retired, doesn't mind the tiny house in the tiny village - after all, he has his books and a study to retreat to. It's left to Matilda to make the best of things. Her way of making the best of things, is to make friends with the villagers and apply for a job. Matilda is an unusual Neels heroine - she has some skills! Besides shorthand and typing she also knows computer and simple bookkeeping, not only that, but she also has her first aid certificate. Not too shabby - in fact, she's downright employable. With her new employment, it means that she can augment her father's tiny pension. The family can really use some money - Mrs. Paige is selfish and spoilt. And Matilda knows it. Mrs. Paige actually utters the words "poor little me"...while blackmailing Matilda out of some of her wages. PLM (poor little me) needs money for the expensive hairdresser in another town and for new clothes, perhaps the occasional social gathering....PLM is an expensive habit. PLM even offers to take all of Matilda's wages and make good use of them. Good try, mum, but Matilda is smarter than that, she tells PLM that the wages will go in father's account and she will keep some out for PLM. At which point PLM cries and accuses Matilda of selfishness. Ah, mother love.
The new job provides a welcome change for Matilda - she gets to get out of the house and meet new people. As a side benefit, she also gets glimpses of Dr. Lovell, whom she loves, loves, loves. Dr. Lovell gets glimpses of Matilda - who is not quite as much like the irreplaceable Miss Brimble as he would like. For one thing, Matilda is cheerful and chatty. Dr. Lovell is chilly and polite.
Meanwhile, back on the homefront, PLM is busy scotching any social life Matilda might possibly get by telling people that "Matilda is a homebird", "Matilda has to stay home with my husband while I go to Taunton and spend her wages on things for me", "Even though Matilda can drive we sold the car". The tyranny of Poor Little Me is one of the defining characteristics of Matilda's life. PLM is quick to tell Matilda how plain and boring she is. If there's a penny to be squeezed out of Matilda, PLM gushes with tears and accusations of being mean. The highlight of Matilda's life is the love she has for Dr. Lovell. Not that she expects anything to come of it - after all, her mother has drilled it into her head that she is plain, unattractive to men and boring, besides, Dr. Lovell is engaged. Matilda may be plain, but boring, she is not. Matilda introduces some radical changes to the doctor's office. A disused chimney pot for wet umbrellas, a plastic chamber pot for toddlers, and flowers. And a little back-chat. Just a little. A tiny spark.
Let's not forget Dr. Lovell's fianceé. Lucilla Armstrong. Yes, Lucilla. With a name like that, you just know she is cold, mercenary and has salt-cellars for bosoms. Matilda, being a girl in love, is naturally jealous and ever so slightly catty.

Matilda has to get a little sneaky in order to have any time and/or money to herself. She plans a shopping trip to Taunton - but doesn't inform the parents until just before she has to run to catch the bus.

Dad: You run along and have a nice day. Do you have enough money?

Mom: You are a thoughtless and selfish girl! Why should you go to Taunton? I am the only one in this house who deserves to have fun or to look good.

That's right, get out the virtual wire coat hangers.

Matilda manages to buy herself a new dress and a sweater...Dr. Lovell notices something is different about her, but can't put his finger on exactly what is different. Relations between the two seemed destined to remain employer/employee, that is, until.....Typhoid Traveller comes to town. A stranger who stopped by the village store and coughed all over everyone...causing a flu epidemic. Every cloud has a silver lining, and this one gives Matilda an excuse to get a "room" in the village because of the longer hours and the danger of giving the flu to her parents, but, shhh, don't tell the doctor. Mrs. Trickett obligingly rents her a room - but as her house does not sport all the mod cons, Matilda will need to go across the street and take her baths at the pub. When the doctor's housekeeper, Mrs. Inch gets the flu, Matilda quietly steps into the breach, cooking meals, letting Sam the dog out into the garden, and taking care of Mrs. Inch. When Dr. Lovell sees Matilda managing so well in the kitchen, he wonders how Lucilla would have handled the crisis...huh? what's that? A chink? Hmm. Mrs. Inch spills the beans about Matilda's sleeping and bath arrangements...which prompts Dr. Lovell to offer Matilda the use of one of his bathrooms.

Her: Now?

Him: Why not? You can let yourself out when you're done.

There may a chink in Dr. Lovell's armour, but that doesn't stop him from forgetting that he invited Matilda to share his tea with him...

Him: I'm an idiot! I totally forgot about you.

Her: I'm the sort of person that people forget. I know that because my mother told me so.
Him: Not true! Don't hide your light under a bushel. Oh, and feel free to take a bath at my place any time.

Just when the flu epidemic is almost over, that's when Matilda starts feeling funny. Over she goes - passed out on the waiting room floor. Dr. Lovell discovers her there, uses some shocking language, scoops up Matilda and plops her in one of his guest rooms. He then turns her over and gives her a purely professional injection in her *ahem*tuckus. And some purely professional listening to her *ahem* chest, THEN he notices her delicately arched eyebrows and long curling lashes...perhaps it's time for a little chaperonage in the form of Aunt Kate? Aunt Kate questions the doctor about Matilda - why her mother (PLM) wasn't taking care of her, what's her father like, and does she have a boyfriend? A boyfriend? The thought rankled.

Since the good doctor was well aware of the fact that Matilda's mum is the 5th Horseman of the Apocalypse...(you know, Pestilence, War, Famine, Death and Toxic Mum), he sends her home with Aunt Kate for a week's convalescence/fattening up. Matilda comes back plump and rosy cheeked...when Dr. Lovell takes her home, he can really and truly see what an awful mother she has. It's just about here that he begins to feel 'vague stirrings', which he assumes to be pity, but that's just silly - Matilda doesn't need his pity and wouldn't take it if it was offered up on a silver platter. Personally, I think she could use a little pity for the way her mother treats her. While Matilda was away, PLM has run up a bill at the grocery store, neglected to pay the milkman, the butcher and the newsagent. I guess Matilda will need to use all of her pay packet to pay the family bills. Again.

Dr. Lovell asks Matilda to help out by babysitting a toddler while his father has an operation. Matilda will be alone with the tyke all day on a remote farm, with only an unknown farmhand around. The thought makes her nervous, but she doesn't show any nerves to Dr. Lovell - after all she would go through fire and ice for him - so why boggle at a bull or two. After examining her father (remember - he has a dicky heart), he warns her that while her dad is well at the moment, it wouldn't surprise him if her dad had another heart attack. And then he kissed her. What? I blinked - what'd I miss?

Matilda seems to gradually take up more and more of Dr. Lovell's thoughts - he offers to let her have some vacation time before Christmas. PLM of course takes advantage - with Matilda off work she can tend her father, clean the house, make refreshments for a small party...in other words, do all the things PLM could do, but won't. Dr. Lovell wangles an invite from Aunt Kate - so Matilda will get at least 2 days free. In the meantime there is the annual village dance, and Dr. Lovell invites Matilda to go with him. What about Lucille, you ask? She's in the south of France. Mum is not interested in the local entertainment - but she does manage a few spiteful comments about the upcoming dance. "It was hard to like her mother sometimes" thinks Matilda. When the good doctor picks up Matilda for the dance, PLM manages to cast a blight - like some kind of evil fairy. Even PLM can't completely ruin their evening. The doctor finds contentment in her arms, and discovers that Matilda isn't plain at all. At the end of Matilda's vacation, the doctor comes over to Aunt Kate's house and invites Matilda to dinner - but what about Lucille? What about Lucille. The doctor admits to himself he is in L.O.V.E. with Matilda - but doesn't think Matilda shows any signs of being in love. Oh, if only they each had best friends, like in junior high.

Him to his friend: Psst. Dude, don't tell anyone but I like, like Matilda.

His friend to her friend: Henry says he likes, likes Matilda.

Her friend to Matilda: I heard that Henry like, likes you!

Matilda to her friend: I like, like him too! But don't tell him!

Her friend to his friend: It's official - she like, likes him.

His friend to Henry: Dude, she like, likes you...you can make your moves.

Love is not as simple as that when you're a grown-up. Henry (Dr. Lovell) licks his finger and holds it up to the wind, squints at the sky and calculates the angle of the sun, stoops down and crumbles some dirt between his finger...and decides to bide his time until she falls in love with him. Too bad he's not a little better at reading signs.

The dicky heart of Mr. Paige comes into play again...Mrs. Paige aka PLM is off visiting friends, Mr. Paige has a massive coronary...Mrs. Paige stays with her friends that live closer to the hospital - leaving Matilda home alone.

Lucilla doesn't want to spend any time in the poky little village either - she issues an ultimatum, which Henry totally accepts...thus clearing the decks for Matilda. Yay! Mrs. Inch finds out that PLM is leaving Matilda alone over Christmas...Henry feels a wee bit murderous (Neels, not me!) about PLM, so off he runs to bring Matilda back to his home. He is not a callow impetuous youth to marry Matilda out of hand. Not our Henry. He soon lets her know that she's Bonny to his Clyde...Lois Lane to his Superman...Gracie to his George...Hermione to his Ron.

We are treated to the best Neels wedding ever. Banns read. Check. In-laws moved a suitable distance away(in this case, 90 miles)? Check. White wedding dress? Check. Sapphire engagement ring? Check. Bridesmaids. Check. The Voice that Breathed o'er Eden. Check. Morning suits. Check. Not one single embellishment was forgotten. Check.

Rating: I loved this book. Matilda was a great heroine - nice, but with enough back-chat to be fun. Henry was awesome - he could have a second career as a wedding planner. PLM was deliciously horrible. The village characters were fun...Queen of Puddings!

Fashion: white wedding dress, navy dress with a white collar, grey jersey dress (suitably short), military cut coat, pink jersey two-piece, the doctor dons cords with a thick sweater.

Food: chocolate biscuits, "tasty cheese", dry cheese biscuits, lamb chops, chicken soup (not from a tin), ham on the bone, a casserole that just needs warming, tiny sausage rolls, hot mince pies, steak and kidney pie, trifle, French onion soup, lardy cake!