Well written in many ways, but...
But I needed a cultural translator to understand this odd, dated book. The plot is: a secretary secretly loves her boss, and on the very day (the very day!) she is going to resign because she can't take her unrequited and unstated love any longer, he proposes to her in an attempt to get away from a scheming husband-hunter or two.
She says yes.
This is utterly ridiculous on its face, but stick with the story for now to see how much more ridiculous it gets. They have sex (not described in the least, but I got the sense that there was nothing in it for her at all, just him "satisfying his normal male urges" in her room and wandering immediately back to his own room.) She plays hostess. He's lavish with his pocketbook and she ends up with nice dresses and a box at the opera and a mansion and jewels and minks. He's kind to her spinster aunt who raised her. He asks about her feelings on various matters--is she upset at this or that? Very solicitous guy. And she respects him for his work ethic. But while she enjoys the heck out of the wealth, she keeps thinking that what she really really wants is for him to love her.
And here's where I get super-confused. What he's doing for her is awfully kind. He's never anything near cruel, never calls her names, is solicitous when she's ill (only with the vapors or somesuch) and never cheats. But she wants his love. She never says so to him, mind you. She just hopes he'll intuit that and come around, and she does a lot of internal handwringing when he doesn't in a few months. And I don't get what it is she wants. Just the three stupid words? Because he's already doing more than what most husbands do for wives (or wives do for husbands), and with a fatter pocketbook to support it.
What this woman SHOULD want, I think, is orgasms. I mean, she has everything a 50s fictional gal bent on matrimony could wish for (he even keeps using her for work in a pinch because he values her business talents, so she even has meaningful work beyond instructing the servants and decorating and stupid crap like that.) Clearly she's getting everything but orgasms. And then I started to think "maybe 'love' is 1950s code for orgasms?"
Is that possible? It's the only way her complaints make sense to me. Cuz people can say "I love you" and never mean it, I don't get the value of the three words. His behavior is respectful and loving, and so I don't get her increasing sadness that she has everything but that tiny, tiny detail. She's really going to leave him because of that one lack? Does she know she's never going to have that kind of money again? Will never earn enough for minks and jewels and servants with her typing skill? That three years into most relationships the romance fades and pretty much all that's left in the good ones is friendship anyway? She's 30 when that was definitely over the hill for women, so she's unlikely to find another husband of any level of wealth, and apparently husbands are #1 on her goal list. And she's going to give all this up because of the lack of three words? If it's really about not getting any good sex, she should take some of that extravagant allowance he gives her and get a damned vibrator.
But I honestly don't think it is about that, as much as that would make more sense to me. It's about the three damned words, and honestly, that seems like a stupid reason to leave a kind and generous multimillionaire.
I'd really have been better off reading a 1950s book set in Thailand or Japan or Zaire. I wouldn't have understood that culture very well either, but at least I'd have gone into it knowing I'd be a little culture shocked.
Oh, and there's a trial at the end and a silly deus ex machina, but it's the love story that drives the book.