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To
Have and to Hold by Jane Green Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
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Reality Some novelists manage to present characters so
real that readers come away from a book feeling confident that they’ve met
interesting and complex people. Jane Green’s novel, To Have
and to Hold, presents such characters. Protagonist Alice Chambers thought
she found happiness when she married the suave, handsome, successful
businessman, Joe Chambers. Joe manipulates Alice to look and act the way he
wants her to be, then goes on to be unfaithful to her at every turn. When Joe’s
sexual shenanigans at work prompt his employer to transfer him from They fuck you up,
your Mum and Dad They may not mean
to but they do They fill you
with the faults they had And add some
extra, just for you. . . - Philip Larkin Joe finishes buttoning his shirt and reaches
for his tie, draped neatly over the back of a buttery toile armchair in the
corner of the bedroom. He puts his tie around his neck and stands in the
soft glow of the bedside lamp for a few seconds, gazing down at the figure in
the bed, her back toward him, her head resting on her arm, looking exactly
like a model for an Impressionist painting. How lovely she is, the light
glancing off the curve of her hip, her hair fanned out on the Frette pillowcases. He leans down with a regretful smile
and plants a gentle kiss on her shoulder, at which she turns over and
stretches, giving him a lazy smile. “You have to leave already?” “I do.” She reaches a hand up and strokes his
cheek. “When will I see you again?” “Soon. I’ll call you.” He sighs,
knowing that this has to end, that her appearance at the restaurant last
night crossed the line of acceptable behavior, that
although it might just be a game to her, it could cost him his marriage. “And what if I call you first?” Valerie
smiles, then slowly pushes herself up on to her
knees, stretching her arms up around his neck, waiting to see his reaction. “Valerie,” he warns, nervous now. “You
know the score. “I know, darling,” she purrs, because
this is a game she has played many times before, and as much as she likes to
tease her married lovers, she has no intention whatsoever of breaking up
their marriages. She just likes to have fun, to push the limits, to see how
far she can go. “This has nothing to do with your marriage, I know, I know.” “No, Valerie,” he says gently,
disentangling himself from her arms. He has to end this,
nearly had heart failure last night when she turned up at Nobu,
only three hours after he had left her bed, when he had told her where he was
taking In the beginning he would have found it
flattering. Would have found the element of danger exhilarating and sexy as
hell. But he’s been seeing Valerie for a while now, and although the sex is
fantastic, the thrill of the chase has now well and truly gone, and the
prospect of getting caught—particularly after last night—is far more worrying
than exciting. There are, after all, certain rules
about playing away, certain expectations that each of you must have, and an
implicit agreement that you will abide by these rules. First, and most important, a mistress
must conspire to protect your marriage, must understand that your marriage
comes first, and that however much you profess to love your mistress, you
will never leave your wife. She must never acknowledge you publicly
in anything other than a platonic way, must understand that arrangements are
made to be broken and that your family will always come first. She must wait for your phone call or
phone you on your mobile phone, which will be switched off when you are with
your family. If you are with your family when the phone rings, you will have
a code, and she will understand and immediately say goodbye. She will never
phone you at home, not even when the urge to hear your voice becomes
unbearable, and she will make herself available whenever you wish to see her. Joe knows the rules by heart, knew the
rules long before he planned to play the game. He has been observing the
rules since he was a tiny boy, too young even to understand the meaning of
the word, but old enough to know that what his father was doing was somehow
wrong, would hurt his mother, that he would have to shoulder the burden of
secrecy to please his father and protect his mother. We are all the product of our
parenting, and Joe, although a kind man, a loving man, could not have turned
out any other way. Eric Chambers was twenty-seven when Joe
was born in 1964. He had been married for a year to Ava,
whose dark good looks always reminded people of Ava
Gardner, after whom she was named. Eric had fallen in love with Ava after she repeatedly turned him down, rejected his
advances, told him she was not interested. She knew of his reputation, had seen
him around town in his E-type Jag, always with a glamorous blonde in a
headscarf and large black sunglasses at his side. Ava
had known he would be a heartbreaker, that he had indeed broken the hearts of
many of the girls she knew. But Eric persisted. He was not used to
being turned down, and her indifference only fanned the flames of his desire.
For a while, just like his son, he thought he could be the perfect husband,
thought that one woman would be enough. For a while he thought he could look
and not touch, appreciate the myriad of beautiful women around him, admire
the miniskirts brushing their thighs, the sleek bobs brushing against sharp
cheekbones, but once Ava’s pregnancy started to
show, Eric found himself longing for the unfamiliar touch, the thrill of a
new body, a new taste, a new smell. He fought it as long as he could, but
one brief dalliance before Joe was born became several during Joe’s first
year, eventually becoming one permanent mistress, who was subject to change,
plus a couple of one-night stands, should he be lucky enough to find them,
the free love of the 1970s taking rather longer to hit Guild-ford. It didn’t, however, take Eric long to
realize that Joe was the perfect foil. “I’m just taking him out for a walk,”
he would tell Ava, who would gratefully retire to
her room for a break from the exhausting demands of motherhood. After
bundling Joe up, Eric would put him in the carriage and walk him down the
road to Betty’s house, where Joe would gurgle happily on the floor of the
living room while Eric helped “Auntie Betty” in the other room. After Auntie Betty there was Auntie
Sandra. Then Auntie Sally, followed by Auntie Terry, Auntie Pat, and Auntie
Barbara. Auntie Pat was Joe’s favorite. She’d scoop him up into a big hug,
saying, “Whaddyaknowjoe?” had a color television
set, and let him eat sherbet fizzes and drink pop while he watched Captain
Scarlet. All the aunties made a fuss of Joe, but
by the time Auntie Barbara came along, Joe was refusing to cooperate. He
didn’t need any more aunties, he had decided, and there was no point being
nice to them because they never seemed to stick around for long anyway. “I don’t want to go and see Auntie
Barbara,” he’d said. “Why can’t we go and see Auntie Pat?” But of course he’d
never say this in front of his mum, because Eric had already told him that he
worked for the aunties on the quiet and that Mum wouldn’t be very happy about
it, and he was only doing it to make a bit of extra money to buy nice things
for Mum, so Joe mustn’t say anything. Joe knew, even at five
years old, that there was more to it than that. He knew that his father was
somehow guilty, and hated the fact that he would buy him a treat on the way
home to buy his silence. He hated that moment when they would both walk in
the door, and his mother would give him a big kiss and ask whether he’d had a
lovely time at the park, or the museum. He’d shrug and stay silent, and would
go up to his room as quickly as possible to avoid any more questions. “Good boy, Joe,” Eric
would whisper as he ruffled his hair. “Who’s Daddy’s best boy?” “I am,” Joe would
mumble, unable to look his father in the eye. The best times were when
his father was away. Then it would just be Joe and his mum, and he could look
after her and make her laugh, and make sure that she didn’t have to worry
about anything. And best of all, he didn’t have to lie, although his father
said it wasn’t lying, it just wasn’t telling the whole truth, and that was
something entirely different. His parents were married
for thirty-one years, until the unthinkable happened. Ava
left Eric for Brian, a man they had played bridge with, a man they had known
for years, whose own wife had died of cancer a long time ago. It came completely out
of the blue. Joe was at the office when the phone rang and he heard a series
of short, sharp sobs. For a man who had never seen his father cry, it was
possibly the most shocking thing Joe had ever heard. “She’s gone,” his father
kept repeating. “She’s gone. What am I going to do?” “Of course I knew,” his mother said
when Joe got hold of her later that day. “I’ve known for years about your
father but I didn’t want to know, I pretended not to notice. I kept thinking
that if I kept quiet he’d eventually give the women up, and I kept hoping
that maybe it wasn’t true, but I’ve heard all the rumors, I know there’s no
smoke without fire.” “But he loves you,” Joe pleaded,
devastated that his mother had actually left, that the only security he had
ever known could be shattered so quickly. “He’s devastated. He doesn’t know
what to do with himself.” “He’ll get over it,” she said sadly. “I
love him but I can’t live with the lies anymore. I can’t live with the phone
calls saying he’s just going to the pub, when I know he’s with another woman.
I don’t want to live with him going into the other room and whispering when
his stupid mobile phone rings. He’s nearly sixty, for heaven’s sake, and he’s
still at it, and I’ve had enough.” Ava had married Brian—a very nice, but
very dull accountant— and Eric had finally got used to being on his own. “You’ll be fine,” Joe had said to him
in the beginning. “Think of what a wonderful time you’ll have now you’re a
free man, think of all those women who are dying to meet a handsome man like
you.” But Eric hadn’t ever really been fine
since Ava left. It had shocked him to the core, and
it was only once she had gone that he realized not only how much he loved
her, but how much he needed her. Eventually he met Carol, a divorced
woman in her mid-fifties, and they settled down together. Joe doesn’t spend
enough time with either of them to know whether the aunties are still around,
but he rather suspects they are. What leopard, after all, ever manages to
change its spots? Joe had sworn he wouldn’t do the same
thing as his father. Even as a young boy he had vowed he wouldn’t have a
series of aunties, wouldn’t hurt his wife like his father had hurt his
mother, wouldn’t spend his entire married life lying to his partner. But really. Did he ever have a choice? Joe does love There was only ever one woman who
didn’t understand the rules. Sasha was Joe’s first
transgression after his marriage, and had she not made it so obvious she was
interested, had she not blatantly pursued him, perhaps he would have managed
to stay off the slippery slope. Not forever, you understand, just for a
while longer. Sasha was supposed to be a one-night stand.
He had two hours of frantic, animal sex, then slunk
home feeling sick and guilty, creeping into bed next to He left early the next morning, unable
to look But after four months of secret trysts
with Joe, Sasha was fed up. She had been single
long enough, had wasted too much time looking for a man like Joe, without the
attachments. It had taken thirty-three years, and finally she had figured out
that men like Joe—attractive, intelligent, good sense of humor, bucketloads of money—were never unattached. She would
simply have to steal her man away from somebody else. What else could she do? She took Jerry Hall’s words to heart,
becoming a cook in the kitchen, a maid in the living room, and a whore in the
bedroom. Joe had never had sex like it: She would do anything, anywhere, at
any time. At first it was as addictive as a drug—the sex, then the food, and
all completely under his control, she was entirely at his beck and call. And when Sasha
knew he was hooked, she started exerting pressure, not much, just enough to
show Joe she meant business. A few dangerous text messages. The odd phone
call at home to hear his voice, blocking her number first for the couple of
occasions when Sasha realized immediately that she had
overstepped the mark by leaving the love notes in his pocket, and she tried
to apologize, to persuade him to carry on, promised she wouldn’t do it again,
but Joe couldn’t take the chance. Some men might have been put off by
such a close shave, and Joe was, temporarily, shocked into being the faithful
husband. For a while. He was home every night by eight o’clock, and when he
phoned to say he would be late because he was in a meeting, he was in a
meeting. He went away on business and stayed in
the best hotels, and met clients in the bar for a drink, wined and dined
them, then went back to his room, on his own, and phoned Then during a trip to That lasted precisely four more months. And now his latest is Valerie. Valerie
who is sophisticated enough not to be taken in by his charm, who is dangerous
enough to have her own agenda, to want to play games just to see what kind of
reaction she can incur. He knows that on one level Valerie is a
safe choice. Far too experienced a woman, a lover, a mistress, to believe
that sex is anything other than sex, she would not actually do anything to
seriously jeopardize his marriage, he knows, but Alice is not stupid, and
until last night, when Valerie turned up at the restaurant to play a little
mind fuck, Joe had not realized quite how close to the wind she was prepared
to sail. Joe is much more careful now about the
women he chooses, but clearly not quite careful enough. And then, at times
like this, when he is nearly caught~ when he is shocked into realizing quite
how much he stands to lose should Alice ever discover his affairs, he vows to
stop, to settle down and become a proper husband again. Valerie.” He gazes down at her, knowing
that this is the last time he will sleep with her. “I can’t do this anymore.” “I thought you might say that.” Valerie
reaches over and grabs her robe, for as hard and ruthless as she may be, the prospect of being dumped while naked makes her
instantly vulnerable, and she needs to cover herself for protection. “And was
it because I turned up last night? Or were you growing bored with me?” She
isn’t upset, merely curious, and they both know full well that there will be
another Joe in a matter of days, that there may in fact be a number of Joes
already waiting in the wings. “Ah, well. Tantpis.
I had a lovely time.” She cups his cheek in her hand and kisses him on
the lips, stroking his cheek tenderly. “You are going to try to be a faithful
husband now?” Joe nods. Valerie smiles. “Until the next Valerie
comes along.” She turns and climbs back into bed. “Take care, my dear.” “And you too.” Joe is relieved,
grateful that she has taken this so calmly, like such a professional, and now
wondering whether he is doing the right thing. Valerie sees the light go on in his
eyes and shakes her head. “No, Joe. No last good-bye fuck.
I prefer my endings clear and clean cut.” She blows him a kiss. “Go home to
your wife and treat her well. Tell Joe sighs with relief as he walks down
the stairs from Valerie’s apartment. No second thoughts now. With that last
statement from Valerie, Joe knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s doing
the right thing. I hate these bloody things.” “I know, darling,” Joe says
beseechingly on the other end of the phone, “but it’s only an art gallery
opening, and I promise we won’t have to stay long.” Once upon a time But she has learned not to do that
anymore. She has learned that an art gallery opening is just another place to
see and be seen. That you take a glass of champagne from a waiter bearing a
silver tray when you arrive, then walk around the room air-kissing all the
familiar faces, commenting on how marvelous the art is when in fact you can’t
possibly see anything due to the hundreds of people crammed into one small gallery. “You promise we can come straight home
afterward? No other parties?” She drops the paintbrush into a can and picks
up a small wad of steel wool. “I promise. What are you doing now, “Stripping a table I found.” Joe laughs. “I don’t know why you
always insist on doing it yourself. You can buy these pieces of furniture
anywhere you want.” “Because I enjoy it,” “That’s because you’re strange. You’re
the only woman I know who actually enjoys getting filth under your nails and
getting covered in paint.” That’s because, “I promise I’ll clean up by tonight.” “I promise I’ll have you dirty again by
the time we get to bed.” “Will you ever lose that schoolboy
sense of humor?” “Would you want me to?” Times like now, when work doesn’t seem
to be as demanding and he is not required to be in the office all hours, when
the business trips are few and far between. And when the pressure of work has been
relaxed, Joe is more relaxed. He is back to being the loving, playful husband
he was when they met, and she has learned to enjoy those times, for she knows
they will not last. She has heard the occasional rumors
about her husband, but she chooses to ignore them. Infidelity is something
she is simply not prepared even to think about. To Have and
to Hold is likely to attract more female than male readers, but the
writing should appeal to everyone, and the character development is fine. Steve
Hopkins, August 26, 2004 |
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ă 2004 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the September
2004 issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/To
Have and to Hold.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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