Promise Me Eternity (25 page)

He reached out quickly and patted her bottom.
“I’m sure you’ll pull it off. Every party you organize is just
perfect. I don’t know why you worry so much.”

“That’s true,” she said, moving away from
him, “but this time I really do feel as if it’s all going to fall
apart. There are a hundred and fifty coming and I don’t know where
we’re going to put them all.”

“I’ve got faith in you. You’ll make it work.”
He went upstairs.

I’ve got to do this
, Christine said to
herself, pressing her fist to her forehead.

She pulled a long-stemmed rose from a large
flower arrangement on a coffee table and stepped onto the terrace.
As she pressed her nose deep into the flower, she surveyed the
spacious flower garden that stretched hundreds of yards on all
sides. She began to think about her life.

She had met Carlo two years earlier. Then, he
had seemed charming, kind, and loving. He had also enchanted her
with his strength and the self-confident way he carried himself.
She had always hated spineless types.

But later Christine found out that his
strength and confidence did not only originate from his business
acumen. She had overheard a number of conversations making it clear
that her husband was not only a successful businessman, but also a
dangerous criminal.

She had realized this a few hours after their
first serious argument. They had been together barely six months
and in anger she had threatened to leave him. A little later, when
she was lying beside the pool, he appeared, talking on the phone.
At first she didn’t pay any attention, as the warmth had almost
sent her to sleep, but he was talking so loud she couldn’t help but
overhear. He said, “Brancini has had it. He’s been messing with me
for more than three months. I want him punished …” His tone sounded
so threatening that even she felt afraid. She thought that maybe
that was just the way he did business, but when a few days later
she saw in the newspaper that Oscar Brancini was found at home with
his head blown off, she naturally was suspicious. She kept hearing
in her head:
I want him punished
.

She felt afraid of Carlo in a way she never
had before. She wanted to talk to him but could never pluck up the
courage to start the conversation. A number of times over breakfast
she was bursting to ask who was responsible for Oscar Brancini’s
death, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

A few months later, when they’d had three
more serious fights, she heard: “I waited for nothing yesterday. He
promised me faithfully that he’d bring the money. Damn Kreiger!
I’ve had enough. Do what you have to do.” Only a week later she saw
on TV that Peter Kreiger, the owner of a restaurant chain, had been
found drowned in a nearby river. This time she didn’t want to
believe it; she kept trying to convince herself that Carlo had
nothing to do with it. But when she went near him, she trembled
from head to foot. He asked her what was going on. She pretended
she didn’t feel well and said she probably had a fever. But she
never found the courage to ask him.

When it happened a third time and they found
some Belgian tycoon with his throat cut after Carlo had talked
about him, there no longer seemed to be any point in asking. She
was convinced her husband was a murderer.

Christine had gone to her room and began to
pack a suitcase. Obviously, one of the servants called him, because
in half an hour Carlo was home. He asked her where she was going
and she said she was leaving him. That was when he hit her for the
first time. It was so sudden and unexpected that she immediately
began to sob. In a wave of anger she told him what she had heard
and what she knew about him. She threatened to go to the police if
he didn’t leave her alone. He looked at her for a while and then
hit her again. He slowly removed his belt and started to beat her
with it. She was unable to struggle out of his grasp, and he
continued until she passed out.

She woke up in the hospital with broken ribs
and a cracked jaw. She couldn’t move from the pain. On first
opening her eyes, Christine saw him there. He sat, holding her
hand, tears running down his face. She was scared to death and she
wanted to cry out, but instead all she heard from her lips was a
sickly croak. Carlo put his hand over her mouth. He was crying and
apologizing for everything he had done. He told her he was
disappointed in her. Because she had wound him up, he had lost
control. He’d thought that she loved him and that she’d stay with
him through thick and thin. He said she couldn’t leave him because
she was his wife and because she knew too much. He leaned close to
her ear and whispered, “If you leave me, I’ll have to kill
you.”

For long hours as she lay on her own in the
hospital, she had time to think. At first she was determined to get
away at the first opportunity, but the more she thought about it,
the more afraid she was. She really feared him. Finally, she
decided to stay with him, as that was a better option than
dying.

When Christine came home, it was hard at
first. She shuddered every time he came near her. Of course, he
noticed and was particularly kind and loving. She carried on as if
nothing was wrong, but within she had to suppress an increasing
tension that was sometimes impossible to bear. She often cried
hysterically, which seemed to help her calm her inner turmoil.

Slowly, Christine got used to him. The more
she thought about it, the more she was convinced that she lacked
nothing. True, her husband was a dangerous criminal, but he always
behaved well toward her and never threatened her again.

Once, when they had argued again and he
appeared with the phone to frighten her, she calmly said to him
that she had a headache and could he make the phone call in the
other room. Surprised at her reaction, he didn’t object.

Later, when he joined her, she told him that
his business affairs didn’t interest her in the slightest. “As far
as I’m concerned, you can do away with whoever you want, but I
really don’t need to know about it. What if you’re arrested? The
less I know the better. Don’t you agree?”

He stared at his wife for a while, amazed at
how calmly she had said it. The more he looked at her, the more he
desired her. He started to kiss her face and neck and to open her
dress. Instead of her trembling with fear, he was trembling with
excitement.

He carried her to the nearest sofa and
quickly removed her clothes. She pressed her legs together to stop
him coming inside her because he seemed to be in such a hurry and
she wasn’t ready. He roughly grabbed her knees and forced them wide
apart. Seconds later, with lust in his eyes and his mouth open, he
forced his way into her. “Oh, that’s so good,” he panted.

He came in less than fifteen seconds and
began to caress the whole of her body. “I love you, Christine, I
love you so much.”

Life with Carlo continued; he never
threatened her again and she got used to the idea of staying with
him. She enjoyed the fruits of wealth and tried to suppress the
negative thoughts that floated to the surface.

Often, when she felt badly, she would
remember how she had lived before she met Carlo. Christine
remembered her parents’ damp basement apartment. There was no money
to spare; her mother worked in a poultry plant and her father was a
forklift operator in a nearby paper warehouse. Their wages barely
covered basic necessities.

Even as a little girl, Christine was
observant of her surroundings. She soon realized that she was
dressed in cheap, ugly clothes, while some of her friends had on a
different, expensive outfit every day. When she felt the material,
it was softer and the colors were more attractive. Even back then
it became clear that there were differences between people.

Each day when she came home she noticed the
musty smell. Sometimes the walls were so damp that she could see
drops of moisture gathering in certain areas. They could have aired
the place, but opening the window was risky. They lived below
street level and looked out on the legs of passers-by. Whenever
kids saw the window open they bent down and peered in. Once,
Christine was in her underwear. Sometimes they threw something in …
a stone or a piece of wood.

Christine truly detested that apartment. One
time, when she told her father this, he jumped up and slapped her
face, so that her nose bled. Her mother said nothing, but sat there
waiting to see what would happen. Then her father hit her again and
told her that she was ungrateful and that God would punish her. He
said that he and her mother had barely managed to get credit to buy
the place, that they were still paying it off, and that they were
working hard just to make ends meet. When he finished speaking, he
hit her again and ordered her to kneel in the corner. Before she
knelt down, he scattered salt on the spot where she had to kneel.
Christine didn’t turn to look at her mother, knowing she would do
nothing to help. The girl gritted her teeth and cried, and swore to
herself that one day she would get back at them.

She was punished for every little thing.
Sometimes Christine had the feeling that her father provoked her
into saying something stupid so that he could beat her. She
received so many blows that she gradually got used to them and it
didn’t hurt anymore. But one thing she could not get used to: the
hatred that grew inside her. She hated her father for beating her,
and her mother for failing to do anything about it.

When she was seventeen her father saw her in
town, kissing some boy. Back home, he thrashed her so hard that for
a week she couldn’t leave her room. She was too embarrassed to let
people see the bruises on her face and elsewhere on her body. It
was then she made the decision: she packed her clothes and sneaked
out during the night.

Christine was happy to be finally free of
them. But there was something she wasn’t free of: poverty. Without
a high school diploma, she had to take any job she could get. To
begin with, she worked as a cleaner, then on a production line, and
finally for a company where she glued cardboard boxes. Everything
she earned went to pay the rent. Then she realized how hard life
could be.

She hated poverty. She loathed having to put
cheap cream on her face when she knew there were much better,
gentler, more expensive ones. While some women could wear a
different pair of shoes each day, she had to put up with the same
pair, day in day out. She couldn’t understand how people could
afford what they had. Occasionally she would go to a bar for a
coffee and watch enviously as those around her drank expensive
cocktails and hard liquors. Before, she’d hated her father; now she
hated her life.

But Christine had something that her
co-workers didn’t have. When she let her hair grow long, which her
father had not permitted, she was so beautiful that she took men’s
breath away. Whenever she went to the ladies’ room, they whistled
and played the fool. She could have had any one of them, but she
wanted to be on her own. She still remembered all too well her
father’s heavy hands on her.

She met Carlo on vacation. She was lying on
the beach with a friend from work, soaking up the sun. Carlo Vucci,
who was lying only twenty yards away, kept eyeing her. He had seen
many beautiful women in his life, but Christine was something
special. When she passed close by one afternoon, he spoke to her.
He was convinced that she would reject him outright, but instead
she was friendly, full of smiles. He invited her and her friend for
a drink in the evening.

Back at the hotel the girls were giggling at
the thought of the little fat guy they had met on the beach. They
hadn’t the slightest intention of spending the evening with some
old pervert. As they were getting ready to go out, the phone rang.
Her friend answered and turned to Christine, saying, “The
receptionist says there’s a car waiting for us out front.”

They burst out laughing and decided to ignore
the car. But a half-hour later, when they were passing the
reception desk on the way out, the receptionist pointed outside and
reminded them the car was still waiting. They stared in amazement
at the black stretch limousine. As if hypnotized, they went toward
it to check that it was really for them. When they got near, a
chauffer got out, greeted them, and opened the door for them.

“Who sent it?” Christine asked.

The chauffer replied, “Mr. Vucci. He said he
spoke to you on the beach.”

They laughed again and got in.

At dinner they were at first reserved with
Mr. Vucci, but after they had drunk two glasses of champagne each
they became more talkative. Five waiters kept bringing food and
drink. They’d already had two appetizers and were eating their
entrées.

Carlo looked at Christine and said, “I’m so
glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

“We didn’t have anything special to do,”
Christine lied.

Her friend was so busy stuffing herself with
food that she couldn’t speak.

“I hope you like the food here. This
restaurant is highly recommended. They say it’s one of the most
expensive ones around.”

“It’s fantastic,” Christine replied.

Her friend nodded.

“If you want, we can go on to some bar or
disco. My treat, of course.”

For a moment the two young women’s eyes met
and they raised their eyebrows.

Christine was impressed with Carlo. When she
saw how he threw money around, she immediately liked him.
So
what if he is a little old?
she thought.

They danced until four in the morning. They
had a table reserved in the best corner of the nightclub, with a
chilled bottle of sparkling wine always on hand. By the time they
left, they were all so drunk they barely made it to the limo.

The next day Carlo invited them for lunch.
Afterward, they strolled around the streets full of clothes
stores.