Crazy Rich Asians

1 Tyersall Park

SINGAPORE

“Colin and I would speed down this slope on our bikes, hands in the air, seeing who could go the farthest without touching the handlebars,” Nick said as they were driven up the long winding driveway to Tyersall Park. Arriving here with Nick was an entirely different experience for Rachel from her first time with Peik Lin. For starters, Nick’s grandmother had sent a gorgeous vintage Daimler to pick them up, and this time Nick was pointing things out along the way.

“See that enormous rambutan tree? Colin and I tried to build a tree house in it. We spent three days working in secret, but then Ah Ma found out and was furious. She didn’t want anything to ruin her precious rambutan fruit and forced us to dismantle it. Colin was so pissed off, he decided to pluck down as many of the rambutans as he could.”

Rachel laughed. “You guys got into quite a bit of trouble, didn’t you?”

“Yep — we were always getting into scrapes. I remember there was one kampong[72] nearby we would sneak into to steal baby chickens.”

“Little rascals! Where was the adult supervision?”

“What adult supervision?”

The car pulled up to the porte cochere, and several servants emerged from a side door to remove their luggage from the trunk. The Indian butler came down the front steps to greet them.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Young, Miss Chu. Mrs. Young is expecting you for tea. She’s in the star-fruit grove.”

“Thanks, Sanjit, we’ll head there now,” Nick said. He guided Rachel past the red flagstone terrace and down a graceful allée, where white acanthus and colorful bursts of hibiscus mingled with lavish thickets of Egyptian papyrus.

“These gardens are even more glorious in the daytime,” Rachel remarked, running her fingers along the row of papyrus stalks swaying gently in the breeze. Enormous dragonflies buzzed about, their wings sparkling in the sunlight.

“Remind me to show you the lily pond. We have these enormous lily pads there—Victoria amazonica, the largest in the world. You can practically sunbathe on them!”

As they approached the grove, a most curious sight awaited Rachel: Nick’s ninety-something-year-old grandmother stood at the top of a wooden ladder that leaned precariously against the trunk of a tall star-fruit tree, painstakingly fussing over some plastic bags. Two gardeners stood at the foot of the rickety ladder, holding it steady, while a Gurkha and the two Thai lady’s maids looked on placidly.

“Sweet Jesus, she’s going to fall off that ladder and break her neck!” Rachel said in alarm.

“This is Ah Ma’s thing. There’s no stopping her,” Nick said with a grin.

“But what exactly is she doing?”

“She inspects every single one of the young star fruits and wraps each of them in their own plastic bags. The humidity helps them to ripen and protects them from birds.”

“Why doesn’t she let one of the gardeners do it?”

“She loves doing it herself — she does this with her guavas too.”

Rachel stared up at Nick’s grandmother, immaculately dressed in a crisply pleated yellow gardening smock, and marveled at her dexterity. Su Yi looked down, noticing that she had a new audience, and said in Mandarin, “One minute — I just have two more to do.”

When Nick’s grandmother had safely descended the ladder (much to Rachel’s relief), the group proceeded down another pathway that led to a formal French walled garden where a profusion of African blue lilies were planted amid perfectly manicured boxwood hedges. In the middle of the garden stood a jewellike conservatory that appeared to have been transported straight out of the English countryside.

“This is where Ah Ma cultivates her prizewinning orchid hybrids,” Nick informed Rachel.

“Wow,” was all Rachel could say as she entered the greenhouse. Hundreds of orchid plants hung on different levels throughout the space, their subtle sweetness permeating the air. Rachel had never seen this many varieties — from intricate spider orchids and vividly colored vandas to the magnificent cattleyas and almost indecently suggestive slipper orchids. Tucked in the middle of all this was a round table that appeared to have been carved out of a single block of blue malachite. Its base consisted of four majestically fierce griffins facing in different directions, each poised to take flight.

As they made themselves comfortable on the cushioned wrought-iron chairs, a trio of servers appeared as if on cue, bearing an enormous five-tiered silver tray laden with delectable nyonya kuehs, finger sandwiches, gemlike pâte de fruits, and fluffy golden-brown scones. A tea cart was rolled toward them by one of the Thai lady’s maids, and Rachel felt like she was hallucinating as she watched the maiden delicately pouring freshly steeped tea from a teapot intricately carved with multicolored dragons. She had never seen a more sumptuous tea service in her life.

“Here are my grandmother’s famous scones — dig in,” Nick said gleefully, licking his lips.

The scones were still warm as Rachel broke one apart and slathered it with a generous helping of clotted cream, just as she’d learned from Nick. She was about to put some of the strawberry jam onto the scone when Su Yi said in Mandarin, “You should try it with some of the lemon curd. My cook makes it fresh every day.” Rachel didn’t feel like she was in a position to defy her hostess, so she scooped on some lemon curd and took her first bite. It was pure heaven — the buttery lightness of the pastry combined with the decadent cream and the smooth hint of sweet lemon made for a perfect alchemy of flavors.

Rachel sighed audibly. “You were right, Nick, this is the best scone on the planet.”

Nick grinned triumphantly.

“Mrs. Young, I am still discovering the history of Singapore. Was afternoon tea always a custom in your family?” Rachel asked.

“Well, I am not a native Singaporean. I spent my childhood in Peking, and we of course did not follow the British custom there. It was only when my family moved here that we picked it up, these colonial habits. It was something we first did for our British guests because they didn’t much appreciate Chinese cooking. Then, when I married Nick’s grandfather, who had spent many years abroad in England, he insisted on a proper afternoon tea with all the trimmings. And of course the children loved it. I suppose that’s how I got used to it,” Su Yi replied in her slow, deliberate way.

It was only then Rachel realized that Nick’s grandmother had not touched any of the scones or finger sandwiches. Instead, she ate only a piece of nyonya kueh with her tea.

“Tell me, is it true that you are a professor of economics?” Su Yi asked.

“It is,” Rachel replied.

“It is good that you had the opportunity to learn such things in America. My father was a businessman, but he never wanted me to learn about financial matters. He always said that within a hundred years, China would become the most powerful nation the world has ever seen. And that is something I always repeated to my children and grandchildren. Isn’t that right, Nicky?”

“Yes, Ah Ma. That’s why you made me learn my Mandarin,” Nick confirmed. He could already see where this conversation was headed.

“Well I was right in doing that, wasn’t I? I am fortunate enough to see my father’s foresight come true in my lifetime. Rachel, did you watch the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony?”

“I did.”

“Did you see how magnificent it was? No one in the world can doubt China’s might after the Olympics.”

“No, they really can’t,” Rachel replied.

“The future is in Asia. Nick’s place is here, don’t you think?”

Nick knew Rachel was headed straight into an ambush, and interrupted her before she could answer. “I have always said that I would return to Asia, Ah Ma. But right now I am still gaining valuable experience in New York.”

“You said the same thing six years ago when you wanted to remain in England after your studies. And now you’re in America. What’s next, Australia, like your father? It was a mistake to send you abroad in the first place. You have become far too seduced by Western ways.” Rachel couldn’t help noting the irony in what Nick’s grandmother was saying. She looked and sounded like a Chinese woman in the most traditional sense, and yet here they were in a walled garden straight out of the Loire Valley having English afternoon tea.

Nick didn’t know how to respond. This was a debate he had been having with his grandmother for the past few years, and he knew he would never win. He started to pick apart the colored layers in a piece of nyonya kueh, thinking he should excuse himself for a moment. It would be good for Rachel to have some private time with his grandmother. He glanced at his watch and said, “Ah Ma, I think Auntie Alix and family will be arriving from Hong Kong any minute now. Why don’t I go welcome them and bring them here?”

His grandmother nodded. Nick smiled at Rachel, giving her a look of assurance before stepping out of the conservatory.

Su Yi tilted her head to the left slightly, and one of the Thai lady’s maids immediately sprang to her side, bending in one graceful motion onto her knees so that her ear was level with Su Yi’s mouth.

“Tell the conservatory gardener that it needs to be five degrees warmer in here,” Su Yi said in English. She turned her attention back to Rachel. “Tell me, where are your people from?” There was a forcefulness in her voice that Rachel had not previously noticed.

“My mother’s family came from Guangdong. My father’s family … I never knew,” Rachel answered nervously.

“How come?”

“He died before I was born. And then I came to America as an infant with my mother.”

“And did your mother remarry?”

“No, she never did.” Rachel could feel the Thai lady’s maids staring in silent judgment.

“So, do you support your mother?”

“No, quite the contrary. She put herself through college in America and is now a real estate agent. She’s done well for herself and was even able to support me through my university studies,” Rachel responded.

Su Yi was silent for a while, considering the girl before her. Rachel didn’t dare to move at all. Finally, Su Yi spoke. “Did you know that I had quite a few brothers and sisters? My father had many concubines who bore him children, but only one supreme wife, my mother. She bore him six children, but out of all my siblings, only three were officially accepted. Myself, and two of my brothers.”

“Why only the three of you?” Rachel ventured to ask.

“You see, my father believed he had a gift. He felt that he was able to ascertain a person’s entire future based on their faces … the way they looked … and he chose to keep only the children he felt would go on to please him. He chose my husband for me this way as well, did you know that? He said, ‘This man has a good face. He will never make any money, but he will never hurt you.’ He was right on both counts.” Nick’s grandmother leaned in closer to Rachel and stared straight into her eyes. “I see your face,” she said in a hushed tone.

Before Rachel could ask what she meant, Nick approached the conservatory door with a cluster of guests. The door burst open, and a man in a white linen shirt and bright orange linen pants bounded toward Nick’s grandmother.

“Ah Ma, dearest Ah Ma! How I’ve missed you!” the man said dramatically in Cantonese, dropping to his knees and kissing her hands.

“Aiyah, Eddie, cha si lang!”[73] Su Yi scolded, withdrawing her hands and smacking him across the head.

2 Nassim Road

SINGAPORE

“God is in the details.” Mies van der Rohe’s iconic quote was the mantra Annabel Lee lived by. From the sculpted mango popsicles handed out to guests lounging by the pool to the precise placement of a camellia blossom on every eiderdown pillow, Annabel’s unerring eye for detail was what made her chain of luxury hotels the favored choice for the most discriminating travelers. Tonight the object of scrutiny was her own reflection. She was wearing a high-collared champagne-colored dress woven from Irish linen, and trying to decide whether to layer it with a double strand of baroque pearls or an opera-length amber necklace. Were the Nakamura pearls too ostentatious? Would the amber beads be subtler?

Her husband, Peter, entered her boudoir wearing dark gray slacks and a pale blue shirt. “Are you sure you want me to wear this? I look like an accountant,” he said, thinking his butler had surely made a mistake in laying out these clothes.

“You look perfect. I ordered the shirt specifically for tonight’s occasion. It’s Ede & Ravenscroft — they make all of the Duke of Edinburgh’s shirts. Trust me, it’s better to be underdressed with this crowd,” Annabel said, giving him a careful once-over. Although there were grand events every single night of the week in the ramp-up to Araminta’s wedding, the party that Harry Leong was throwing tonight in honor of his nephew Colin Khoo at the fabled Leong residence on Nassim Road was the one Annabel was secretly most eager to attend.

When Peter Lee (originally Lee Pei Tan of Harbin) made his first fortune in Chinese coal mining during the mid-nineties, he and his wife decided to move their family to Singapore, like many of the newly minted Mainlanders were doing. Peter wanted to maximize the benefits of being based in the region’s preferred wealth management center, and Annabel (originally An-Liu Bao of Urümqi) wanted their young daughter to benefit from Singapore’s more Westernized — and in her eyes, superior — education system. (The superior air quality didn’t hurt, either.) Besides, she had tired of the Beijing elite, of all the interminable twelve-course banquets in rooms filled with bad replicas of Louis Quatorze furniture, and she longed to reinvent herself on a more sophisticated island where the ladies understood Armani and spoke perfect accentless English. She wanted Araminta to grow up speaking perfect accentless English.

But in Singapore, Annabel soon discovered that beyond the bold-faced names that eagerly invited her to all the glamorous galas, there hid a whole other level of society that was impervious to the flash of money, especially Mainland Chinese money. These people were snobbier and more impenetrable than anything she had ever encountered. “Who cares about those old mothball families? They’re just jealous that we’re richer, that we really know how to enjoy ourselves,” her new friend Trina Tua (wife of the TLS Private Equity chairman Tua Lao Sai) said. Annabel knew this was something Trina said to console herself that she would never be invited to Mrs. Lee Yong Chien’s legendary mah-jongg parties — where the women bet with serious jewelry — or get to peek behind the tall gates of the magnificent modernist house that architect Kee Yeap had designed for Rosemary T’sien on Dalvey Road.

Tonight she was finally going to be invited in. Even though she maintained homes in New York, London, Shanghai, and Bali, and even though Architectural Digest called her Edward Tuttle — designed house in Singapore “one of the most spectacular private residences in Asia,” Annabel’s heartbeat quickened as she passed through the austere wooden gates of 11 Nassim Road. She had long admired the house from afar — Black and Whites[74] like these were so exceedingly rare, and this one, which had been continuously occupied by the Leong family since the twenties, was perhaps the only one left on the island to retain all of its original features. Entering through the Arts and Crafts front doors, Annabel quickly soaked in every minute detail of the way these people lived. Look at this whole row of Malay servants flanking the entrance hall in crisp white blazers. What are they offering on these Selangor pewter trays? Pimm’s No. 1 with fizzy pineapple juice and fresh mint leaves. How quaint. I must copy that for the new Sri Lanka resort. Ah, here is Felicity Leong in tailored silk jacquard, wearing the most exquisite piece of lilac jade, and her daughter-in-law Cathleen, the constitutional law expert (this girl is always so plain, with not a drop of jewelry in sight — you would never guess she’s married to the eldest Leong son). And here is Astrid Leong. What was it like for her to grow up in this house? No wonder she has such great taste — that robin’s-egg blue dress she’s wearing is on the cover of French Vogue this month. Who’s this man whispering to Astrid at the foot of the stairs? Oh, it’s her husband, Michael. What a stunning couple they make. And look at this drawing room, oh just look! The symmetry … the scale … the profusion of orange blossoms. Sublime. I need orange blossoms in all the hotel lobbies next week. Wait a second, is that Ru ware from the Northern Song dynasty? Yes it is. One, two, three, four, there are so many pieces. Unbelievable! This room alone must have thirty million dollars’ worth of ceramics, strewn about as if they were cheap ashtrays. And these Peranakan-style opium chairs — look at the mother-of-pearl inlay — I’ve never seen a pair in such perfect condition. Here come the Chengs of Hong Kong. Look how adorable those children are, all dressed up like little Ralph Lauren models.

Never had Annabel felt more content than right now, when at last she was breathing in this rarified air. The house was filling up with the sort of aristocratic families she had only heard about over the years, families that could trace their lineage back thirty generations or more. Like the Youngs, who had just arrived. Oh look, Eleanor just waved at me. She’s the only one who socializes outside the family. And here’s her son, Nicholas — another looker. Colin’s best friend. And the girl holding Nicholas’s hand must be that Rachel Chu everyone is talking about, the one that’s not one of the Taiwan Chus. One look and I could have told you that. This girl grew up drinking vitamin-D calcium-fortified American milk. But she still doesn’t have a chance of catching Nicholas. And here comes Araminta with all the Khoos. Looking like she belongs.

Annabel knew at that moment she had made all the right decisions for her daughter — enrolling her at Far Eastern Kindergarten, choosing Methodist Girls’ School over Singapore American School, forcing her to go to Youth Fellowship at First Methodist even though they were Buddhists, and whisking her away to Cheltenham Ladies’ College in England for proper finishing. Her daughter had grown up as one of these people — people of breeding and taste. There wasn’t a single diamond over fifteen carats in this crowd, not a single Louis Vuitton anything, no one looking over your shoulder for bigger fish. This was a family gathering, not a networking opportunity. These people were so completely at ease, so well mannered.

Outside on the east terrace, Astrid hid behind the dense row of Italian cypresses, waiting for Michael to arrive at her parents’ house. As soon as she caught sight of him, she rushed to the front door to meet him so that it would appear they had arrived together. After the initial flurry of greetings, Michael was able to corner her by the staircase. “Is Cassian upstairs?” he mumbled under his breath.

“No, he isn’t,” Astrid said quickly before being swept into an embrace by her cousin Cecilia Cheng.

“Where is he? You’ve been hiding him from me all week,” Michael pressed on.

“You’ll see him soon enough,” Astrid whispered as she beamed at her great-aunt Rosemary.

“This was your way of tricking me into coming tonight, wasn’t it?” Michael said angrily.

Astrid took Michael by the hand and led him into the front parlor next to the staircase. “Michael, I promised you would see Cassian tonight — just be patient and let’s get through dinner.”

“That wasn’t the deal. I’m leaving.”

“Michael, you can’t leave. We still have to coordinate plans for the wedding on Saturday. Auntie Alix is hosting a breakfast before the church ceremony and—”

“Astrid, I’m not going to the wedding.”

“Oh come on, don’t joke like this. Everyone is going.”

“By ‘everyone,’ I suppose you are referring to everyone with a billion dollars or more?” Michael seethed.

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Come on, Michael, I know we’ve had a disagreement, and I know you’re probably feeling ashamed, but as I said before, I forgive you. Let’s not make a huge issue out of this. Come home.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I’m not coming home. I’m not going to the wedding.”

“But what are people going to say if you don’t show up at the wedding?” Astrid looked at him nervously.

“Astrid, I’m not the groom! I’m not even related to the groom. Who’s going to give a shit whether I’m there or not?”

“You can’t do this to me. Everyone will notice, and everyone will talk,” Astrid pleaded, trying not to panic.

“Tell them I had to fly off at the last minute for work.”

“Where are you going? Are you flying off to Hong Kong to see your mistress?” Astrid asked accusingly.

Michael paused a moment. He never wanted to resort to this, but he felt that he had been left with little choice. “If it makes you feel better to know — yes, I’m off to see my mistress. I’m leaving on Friday after work, just so I can get away from this carnival. I can’t watch these people spend a gazillion dollars on a wedding when half the world is starving.”

Astrid stared at him numbly, reeling from what he had said. At that moment, Cathleen, the wife of her brother Henry, walked into the room.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” Cathleen said to Michael. “The cooks are having a fit because some transformer blew and that damn high-tech commercial oven we put in last year won’t work. Apparently it’s gone into self-cleaning mode, and there are four Peking ducks roasting in there—”

Michael glared at his sister-in-law. “Cathleen, I have a master’s degree from Caltech, specializing in encryption technology. I’m not your fucking handyman!” he fumed, before storming out of the room.

Cathleen stared after him in disbelief. “What’s wrong with Michael? I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Oh don’t mind him, Cathleen,” Astrid said, attempting a weak laugh. “Michael’s upset because he just found out that he has to rush off to Hong Kong for some work emergency. Poor thing, he’s afraid he might miss the wedding.”

As the Daimler chauffeuring Eddie, Fiona, and their three children approached the gates of 11 Nassim Road, Eddie did one last run-through.

“Kalliste, what are you going to do when they start to serve the coffee and desserts?”

“I’m going to ask Great-aunt Felicity whether I can play the piano.”

“And what are you going to play?”

“The Bach partita, and then the Mendelssohn. Can I also play my new Lady Gaga song?”

“Kalliste, I swear to God if you play any of that damn Lady Gaga I’m going to break every one of your fingers.”

Fiona stared out the car window, ignoring her husband. This is how he was every time he was about to see his Singapore relatives.

“Augustine, what’s the matter with you? Button your jacket,” Eddie instructed.

The little boy obeyed, carefully buttoning the two gold buttons on his blazer.

“Augustine, how many times have I told you — do not ever, EVER button the last button, do you hear me?”

“Papa, you said never button the last button on my three-button jacket, but you never told me what to do when there’s only two buttons,” the boy whimpered, tearing up.

“Happy now?” Fiona said to her husband, taking the boy into her lap and gently smoothing out the hair on his forehead.

Eddie gave her an annoyed look. “Now everybody listen up … Constantine, what are we going to do when we get out of the car?”

“We are going to get into formation behind you and Mummy,” his eldest son answered.

“And what is the order?”

“Augustine goes first, then Kalliste, then me,” the boy droned in a bored voice.

“Perfect. Wait till everyone sees our splendid entrance!” Eddie said excitedly.

Eleanor entered the front hall behind her son and his girlfriend, eager to observe how the girl would be received. Nick had obviously been preparing her — Rachel was cleverly wearing a demure-looking navy blue dress and no jewelry except for tiny pearl earrings. Looking into the drawing room, Eleanor could see her husband’s extended clan all clustered by the French doors leading out to the terrace. She remembered as if it were yesterday meeting them for the first time. It was at the old T’sien estate near Changi, before the place was turned into that frightful country club all the foreigners went to. The T’sien boys with their roving eyes were tripping over themselves to talk to her, but the Shangs barely deigned to look in her direction — those Shangs were only comfortable speaking to families they had known for at least two generations. But here Nick was boldly leading the girl straight into the frying pan, attempting to introduce Rachel to Victoria Young, the snottiest of Philip’s sisters, and Cassandra Shang — the imperious gossip-monger otherwise known as Radio One Asia. Alamak, this was going to be good.

“Rachel, this is my aunt Victoria and my cousin Cassandra, just back from England.”

Rachel smiled nervously at the ladies. Victoria, with her wiry chin-length bob and slightly rumpled peach cotton dress, had the look of an eccentric sculptress, while whippet-thin Cassandra — with her graying hair severely parted into a tight Frida Kahlo bun — wore an oversize khaki shirtdress and an African necklace festooned with little wooden giraffes. Victoria shook Rachel’s hand coolly, while Cassandra kept her spindly arms crossed over her chest, her lips pursed in a tight smile as she assessed Rachel from head to toe. Rachel was about to inquire about their vacation when Victoria, looking over her shoulder, announced in that same clipped English accent that all of Nick’s aunts had, “Ah, here come Alix and Malcolm. And there’s Eddie and Fiona. Good grief, look at those children, all dressed up like that!”

“Alix was moaning on about how much money Eddie and Fiona spend on those kids. Seems they only wear designer clothes,” Cassandra said, stretching out “deee-siiign-er” as if it were some sort of grotesque affliction.

“Gum sai cheen![75] Where on earth does Eddie think he’s taking them? It’s a hundred and five degrees outside and they are dressed for a shooting weekend at Balmoral,” Victoria scoffed.

“They must be sweating like little pigs in those tweed jackets,” Cassandra said, shaking her head.

Just then Rachel noticed a couple entering the room. A young man with the tousled hair of a Korean pop idol lumbered toward them with a girl dressed in a lemon-yellow and white-striped tube dress that clung to her body like sausage casing.

“Ah, here comes my cousin Alistair. And that must be Kitty, the girl he’s madly in love with,” Nick remarked. Even from across the room, Kitty’s hair extensions, false eyelashes, and frosty-pink lipstick stood out dramatically, and as they approached, Rachel realized that the white stripes in the girl’s dress were actually sheer, with her engorged nipples clearly showing through.

“Everyone, I’d like you all to meet my girlfriend Kitty Pong,” Alistair proudly beamed.

The room went dead silent as everyone stood gaping at those chocolate-brown nipples. While Kitty basked in the attention, Fiona swiftly herded her children out of the room. Eddie glared at his kid brother, furious that his entrance had been upstaged. Alistair, thrilled by the sudden attention, blurted out, “And I want to announce that last night I took Kitty to the top of Mount Faber and asked her to marry me!”

“We’re engaged!” Kitty squealed, waving around the large cloudy-pink diamond on her hand.

Felicity gasped audibly, looking at her sister, Alix, for some reaction. Alix gazed into the middle distance, not making eye contact with anyone. Her son nonchalantly continued. “Kitty, meet my cousin Nicky, my auntie Victoria, and my cousin Cassandra. And you must be Rachel.”

Without missing a beat, Victoria and Cassandra turned to Rachel, cutting Alistair dead. “Now Rachel, I hear you are an economist? How fascinating! Will you explain to me why the American economy can’t seem to dig out of its sorry state?” Victoria asked shrilly.

“It’s that Tim Paulson fellow, isn’t it?” Cassandra cut in. “Isn’t he a puppet controlled by all the Jews?”

3 Patric’s

SINGAPORE

“A lacy black thong? And you could really see it through the dress?” Peik Lin cried out, doubling over with laughter in the restaurant banquette she was sharing with Rachel.

“The thong, the nipples, all of it! You should have seen the look on all of their faces! She might as well have been naked,” Rachel said.

Peik Lin wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I can’t believe all that’s happened to you in the past week. Those girls. The dead fish. Nick’s family. Leave it to you to walk right into the middle of all this.”

“Oh Peik Lin, I wish you could see how Nick’s family lives! Staying at Tyersall Park has been absolutely unreal. The bedroom we’re in has all this exquisite French art deco furniture, and I feel like I’ve traveled back in time — the rituals, the decadence, the scale of everything … I mean, there must be at least twelve extra houseguests in town for the wedding, but there are so many maids around, I still have one dedicated just to me — this cute girl from Suzhou. I think she’s a bit pissed off because I haven’t let her do all her duties.”

“What are her duties?” Peik Lin inquired.

“Well, the first night she offered to undress me and brush my hair, which I thought was a little creepy. So I said, ‘No thanks.’ Then she asked if she could ‘draw me a bath’—I love that phrase, don’t you? — but you know I prefer showers, even though the clawfoot tub looks amazing. So she offers to give me a shampoo and scalp massage! I’m like, no I don’t need that. I just want her to leave the room so I can take my shower. Instead the girl rushes into the bathroom to adjust the old-fashioned shower taps until the water temperature is just perfect. I walked in and there were, like, twenty candles lit all around the room — for a friggin’ shower!”

“Alamak, Rachel, why didn’t you let her give you the works? All this royal pampering is totally wasted on you,” Peik Lin chided.

“I’m not used to all this — it makes me uncomfortable that someone’s entire job is to wait on me hand and foot. Another thing — their laundry service is amazing. Everything I wear is washed and pressed within a day of my wearing it. I noticed how fresh and wonderful all my clothes smelled, so I asked my maid what sort of detergent they used. She told me that everything is ironed with a special lavender water from Provence! Can you imagine? And every morning she wakes us up by bringing a ‘calling tray’ to the bedroom with tea for Nick, done just the way he likes it, coffee done just the way I like it, and a plate of these delicious cookies—‘digestive biscuits,’ Nick calls them. And this is before the huge buffet breakfast that’s laid out, and always in a different part of the house. The first morning breakfast was served in the conservatory, the next morning it was on the second-floor veranda. So even going to breakfast is like a surprising treat every day.”

Peik Lin shook her head in amazement, making a few mental notes. It was time to shake things up with the lazy maids at Villa d’Oro — they needed some new tasks. Lavender water in the irons, for starters. And tomorrow she wanted to have breakfast by the pool.

“I tell you, Peik Lin, between all the places Nick has taken me and all the lunches, teas, and dinners we’ve had to attend, I’ve never eaten like this in my entire life. You know, I never imagined that there could be so many big events surrounding one wedding. Nick warned me that tonight’s party is on a boat.”

“Yes, I read that it’s going to be on Dato’ Tai Toh Lui’s new mega-yacht. So tell me about the outfits you’re planning to wear this weekend,” Peik Lin said excitedly.

“Um, outfits? I only brought one dress for the wedding.”

“Rachel, you can’t be serious! Aren’t there going to be numerous events all weekend?”

“Well, there’s the welcome party tonight on the yacht, the wedding tomorrow morning, which will be followed by a reception, and a wedding banquet in the evening. And then there’s a tea ceremony on Sunday. I brought this cute cocktail-length black-and-white dress from Reiss, so I figure I can just wear it all day tomorrow and—”

“Rachel, you’re going to need at least three outfits tomorrow. You can’t be seen in the same dress from morning to night! And everyone is going to be decked out in jewels and ball gowns for the wedding banquet. It’s going to be the grandest event of the decade — there’ll be big-time celebrities and royalty there!”

“Well, there’s no way I can compete with that,” Rachel shrugged. “You know that fashion has never really been my thing. Besides, what can I do about it now?”

“Rachel Chu — I’m taking you shopping!”

“Peik Lin,” Rachel protested, “I don’t want to be running around some mall right now at the last minute.”

“A mall?” Peik Lin gave her a look of disdain. “Who said anything about a mall?” She whipped out her cell phone and speed-dialed a number. “Patric, can you please slot me in? It’s an emergency. We need to do an intervention.”

Patric’s atelier was a former shop house on Ann Siang Hill that had been transformed into an aggressively modern loft, and it was here that Rachel soon found herself standing on a glowing circular platform in nothing but her underwear, a three-way mirror behind her and an Ingo Maurer dome light hovering above, bathing her in warm, flattering light. Sigur Rós played in the background, and Patric (just Patric), wearing a white lab coat over a dramatically high-collared shirt and tie, scrutinized her intently, his arms crossed with one index finger on his pursed lips. “You’re very long-waisted,” he pronounced.

“Is that bad?” Rachel asked, realizing for the first time how contestants must feel during the swimsuit competition of a beauty pageant.

“Not at all! I know women who would kill for your torso. This means we can put you in some of the designers that normally wouldn’t fit on very petite frames.” Patric turned to his assistant, a young man in a gray jumpsuit with meticulously combed hair, and declared, “Chuaaaaan! Pull the plum Balenciaga, the naked peach Chloé, the Giambattista Valli that just came in from Paris, all the Marchesas, the vintage Givenchy, and that Jason Wu with the deconstructed ruffles on the bodice.”

Soon half a dozen or so assistants, all dressed in tight black T-shirts and black denim, buzzed around the space with the urgency of bomb defusers, filling it up with rolling racks crammed with the most exquisite dresses Rachel had ever seen. “I suppose this is how all super-wealthy Singaporeans shop?” she asked.

“Patric’s clients come from everywhere — all the Mainland Chinese, Mongolian, and Indonesian fashionistas who want the latest looks, and many of the privacy-obsessed Brunei princesses. Patric gets access to the dresses hours after they’ve walked the runways,” Peik Lin informed her. Rachel gazed around in wonder as the assistants began hanging the dresses on a titanium rod that was suspended seven feet into the air, encircling the platform like a giant halo. “They’re bringing in way too many dresses,” she remarked.

“This is how Patric works. He needs to see different styles and colors around you first, then he edits. Don’t worry, Patric has the most impeccable taste — he studied fashion at Central Saint Martins, you know. You can be sure that the dresses he picks out won’t be seen on anyone else at the wedding.”

“That’s not my worry, Peik Lin. Look, no price tags anywhere — that’s always a dangerous sign,” Rachel whispered.

“Don’t worry about price tags, Rachel. Your job is to try on the dresses.”

“What do you mean? Peik Lin, I’m not letting you buy me a dress!”

“Shush! Let’s not argue about this,” Peik Lin said as she held up a translucent lace blouse to the light.

“Peik Lin, I mean it. None of your funny business here,” Rachel warned as she thumbed through another rack. A dress that was hand-painted with watery blue-and-silver flowers caught her eye. “Now this is to die for. Why don’t I try this one on?” she asked.

Patric reentered the room and noticed the dress Rachel was holding. “Wait, wait, wait. How did that Dries Van Noten get in here? Chuaaaan!” he yelled for his long-suffering aide-de-camp. “The Dries is reserved for Mandy Ling, who’s on the way right now. Her mother will kau peh kau bu[76] if I let someone else have it.” He turned back to Rachel and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, that Dries is already spoken for. Now, for starters let’s see you in this oyster-pink number with the pretty bustle skirt.”

Rachel soon found herself twirling around in one stunning dress after another and having more fun than she ever thought possible. Peik Lin would simply ooh and ahh over everything she put on, while reading aloud from the latest issue of Singapore Tattle:

Meanwhile, Patric would dash in and out of the dressing room making definitive pronouncements:

“That slit is too high — you’ll give all the choirboys erections wearing that one!”

“Gorgeous! You were genetically engineered to wear Alaïa!”

“NEVER, EVER wear green chiffon unless you want to look like bok choy that got gang-raped.”

“Now that looks stunning. That flared skirt would look even better if you were arriving on horseback.”

Every outfit Patric selected seemed to fit Rachel more beautifully than the last. They found the perfect cocktail dress for the rehearsal dinner and an outfit that could work for the wedding. Just when Rachel finally decided that, what the hell, she would splurge on one great designer ball gown for the first time in her life, Peik Lin summoned for a whole rack of dresses to be wrapped up.

“Are you taking all those for yourself?” Rachel asked in astonishment.

“No, these are the ones that looked best, so I’m getting them for you,” Peik Lin answered as she attempted to hand her American Express black card to one of Patric’s assistants.

“Oh no you’re not! Put that AMEX card down!” Rachel said sternly, grasping Peik Lin’s wrist. “Come on, I only need one formal gown for the wedding ball. I can still wear my black-and-white dress to the wedding ceremony.”

“First of all, Rachel Chu, you cannot wear a black-and-white dress to a wedding — those are mourning colors. Are you sure you’re really Chinese? How could you not know that? Second, when was the last time I saw you? How often do I get to treat one of my best friends in the whole world? You can’t deprive me of this pleasure.”

Rachel laughed at the preposterous charm of her statement. “Peik Lin, I appreciate your generosity, but you just can’t go around spending thousands of dollars on me. Now, I have money saved up for this trip, and I will gladly pay for my own—”

“Fantastic. Go buy some souvenirs when you’re in Phuket.”

In a dressing suite at the other end of Patric’s atelier, two attendants were gingerly tightening the corseted bodice of a scarlet Alexander McQueen gown on Amanda Ling, still jet-lagged from having just stepped off a plane from New York.

“It needs to be tighter,” her mother, Jacqueline, said, looking at the attendants, who each held one side of the gold silk cord hesitantly.

“But I can hardly breathe as it is!” Amanda protested.

“Take smaller breaths, then.”

“This isn’t 1862, Mummy. I don’t think this is actually supposed to be worn like a real corset!”

“Of course it is. Perfection comes at a sacrifice, Mandy. Which naturally is a concept you seem to lack any understanding of.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Don’t get started again, Mummy. I knew exactly what I was doing. Things were going just fine in New York until you forced me to fly back for this insanity. I was so looking forward to blowing off Araminta’s silly wedding.”

“I don’t know what planet you’re living on, but things are not ‘just fine.’ Nicky is going to propose to this girl any minute now. What was the whole point of my sending you to New York? You had one simple mission to accomplish, and you failed miserably.”

“You have no appreciation for what I’ve accomplished for myself. I’m part of New York society now,” Amanda proudly declared.

“Who gives a damn about that? You think anyone here is impressed to see pictures of you in Town & Country?”

“He’s not going to marry her, Mummy. You don’t know Nicky like I do,” Amanda insisted.

“Well, for your sake I hope you’re right. I don’t need to remind you—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve said it for years. You have nothing to leave me, I’m the girl, everything has to go to Teddy,” Amanda lamented sarcastically.

“Tighter!” Jacqueline ordered the attendants.

4 First Methodist Church

SINGAPORE

“Another security checkpoint?” Alexandra Cheng complained, peering out the tinted window at the throngs of spectators lining Fort Canning Road.

“Alix, there are so many heads of state here, of course they have to secure the location. That’s the Sultan of Brunei’s convoy ahead of us, and isn’t the vice premier of China supposed to be coming?” Malcolm Cheng said.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if the Lees invited the entire Communist Party of China,” Victoria Young snorted in derision.

Nick had departed at the crack of dawn to help Colin prepare for his big day, so Rachel caught a ride with his aunts and uncle in one of the fleets of cars leaving from Tyersall Park.

The burgundy Daimler finally arrived in front of First Methodist Church and the uniformed chauffeur opened the door, causing the crowd crammed behind barricades to roar in anticipation. As Rachel was helped out of the car, hundreds of press photographers hanging off metal bleachers began snapping away, the sound of their frenzied digital clicks like locusts descending on an open field.

Rachel heard a photographer yell to a newscaster standing on the ground, “Who’s that girl? Is she someone? Is she someone?”

“No, it’s just some rich socialite,” the newscaster snapped back. “But look, here comes Eddie Cheng and Fiona Tung-Cheng!”

Eddie and his sons emerged from the car directly behind Rachel’s. Both boys were dressed in outfits identical to their father’s — dove-gray cutaway jackets and polka-dot lavender ties — and they flanked Eddie obediently while Fiona and Kalliste followed a few paces behind.

“Eddie Cheng! Look this way, Eddie! Boys, over here!” the photographers shouted. The newscaster thrust a microphone in front of Eddie’s face. “Mr. Cheng, your family is always at the top of the best-dressed lists, and you certainly didn’t disappoint us today! Tell me, who are you wearing?”

Eddie paused, proudly placing his arms around his boys’ shoulders. “Constantine, Augustine, and I are in Gieves & Hawkes bespoke, and my wife and daughter are in Carolina Herrera,” he grinned broadly. The boys squinted into the bright morning sun, trying to remember their father’s instructions: look straight into the camera lens, suck your cheeks in, turn to the left, smile, turn to the right, smile, look at Papa adoringly, smile.

“Your grandsons look so cute all dressed up!” Rachel remarked to Malcolm.

Malcolm shook his head derisively. “Hiyah! Thirty years I have been a pioneering heart surgeon, but my son is the one who gets all the attention — for his bloody clothes!”

Rachel grinned. These big celebrity weddings all seemed to be about the “bloody clothes,” didn’t they? She was wearing an ice-blue dress with a fitted blazer trimmed with mother-of-pearl disks all along the lapel and sleeves. At first she felt rather overdressed when she saw what Nick’s aunts were wearing back at Tyersall Park — Alexandra in a muddy-green floral dress that looked like eighties Laura Ashley, and Victoria in a geometric-patterned black-and-white knit dress (so much for Peik Lin’s theory) that looked like something dug up from the bottom of an old camphor-wood chest. But here, among all the other chic wedding guests, she realized that she had nothing to worry about.

Rachel had never seen a crowd like this in the daytime — with the men sharply dressed in morning suits and the women styled to within an inch of their lives in the latest looks from Paris and Milan, many sporting elaborate hats or flamboyant fascinators. An even more exotic contingent of ladies arrived in iridescent saris, hand-painted kimonos, and intricately sewn kebayas. Rachel had secretly been dreading the wedding all week, but as she followed Nick’s aunties up the slope toward the Gothic redbrick church, she found herself succumbing to the festive air. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event, the likes of which she would probably never witness again.

At the main doors stood a line of ushers dressed in pinstriped morning suits and top hats. “Welcome to First Methodist,” an usher said cheerily. “Your names, please?”

“What for?” Victoria frowned.

“So I can tell you which rows you’ll be sitting in,” the young man said, holding up an iPad with a detailed seating chart glowing on its screen.

“What nonsense! This is my church, and I am going to sit in my regular pew,” Victoria said.

“At least tell me if you’re guests of the bride or groom?” the usher asked.

“Groom, of course!” Victoria huffed, brushing past him.

Entering the church for the first time, Rachel was surprised by how starkly modern the sanctuary looked. Silver-leaf latticework walls soared to the stonework ceilings, and rows of minimalist blond-wood chairs filled the space. There wasn’t a single flower to be seen anywhere, but there was no need, because suspended from the ceiling were thousands of young Aspen trees, meticulously arranged to create a vaulted forest floating just above everyone’s heads. Rachel found the effect stunning, but Nick’s aunties were aghast.

“Why did they cover up the red brick and the stained glass? What happened to all the dark wooden pews?” Alexandra asked, disoriented by the complete transformation of the church she had been baptized in.

“Aiyah, Alix, don’t you see? That Annabel Lee woman has transformed the church into one of her ghastly hotel lobbies!” Victoria shuddered.

The ushers inside the church rushed around in utter panic, since most of the eight hundred and eighty-eight[77] wedding guests were completely ignoring the seating chart. Annabel had been advised on the seating protocol by no less an authority than Singapore Tattle’s editrix in chief, Betty Bao, but even Betty was unprepared for the ancient rivalries that existed among Asia’s old-guard families. She would not have known, for instance, that the Hus should always be seated in front of the Ohs, or that the Kweks would not tolerate any Ngs within a fifty-foot radius.

Predictably, Dick and Nancy T’sien had commandeered two rows near the pulpit and were turning away anyone other than T’siens, Youngs, or Shangs (in rare exceptions, they were allowing in a few Leongs and Lynn Wyatt). Nancy, in a cinnabar-red dress and enormous matching feather-brimmed hat, gushed excitedly as Alexandra and Victoria approached. “Don’t you love what they’ve done? It reminds me of the Seville Cathedral, where we attended the wedding of the Duchess of Alba’s daughter to that handsome bullfighter.”

“But we’re Methodists, Nancy. This is a sacrilege! I feel like I’m in the middle of the Katyn forest, and someone is about to shoot me in the back of the head,” Victoria seethed.

Rosemary T’sien walked up the central aisle escorted by her grandson Oliver T’sien and her granddaughter Cassandra Shang, nodding to people she knew along the way. Rachel could already tell by Cassandra’s wrinkled nose that she did not approve of the decor. Radio One Asia slipped in between Victoria and Nancy and launched into the latest breaking news: “I just heard that Mrs. Lee Yong Chien is furious. She is going to talk to the bishop right after the service, and you know what that means — no more new library wing!”

Oliver, who was nattily dressed in a cream-colored seersucker suit, blue checked shirt, and yellow knit tie, slipped in next to Rachel. “I want to sit next to you — you’re the best-dressed girl I’ve seen all day!” he declared, admiring the understated elegance of Rachel’s outfit. As the church continued to fill up, Oliver’s running commentary on the arriving VIP guests had Rachel alternately mesmerized and in stitches.

“Here comes the Malay contingent — assorted sultanas, princesses, and hangers-on. Hmm, it looks like someone got lipo. Lord have mercy, have you ever seen this many diamonds and bodyguards in all your life? Don’t look now, I’m pretty sure that woman in the cloche hat is Faye Wong. She’s an amazing singer and actress, famously elusive — the Greta Garbo of Hong Kong. Ah, look at Jacqueline Ling in that Azzedine Alaïa. On anyone else, that shade of pink would look slutty, but on her it looks drop-dead perfect. And see that really thin fellow with the comb-over being greeted so warmly by Peter and Annabel Lee? That’s the man everyone here wants to talk to. He’s the head of China Investment Corporation, which manages the Chinese Sovereign Wealth Fund. They have more than four hundred billion in reserves …”

On the bride’s side of the aisle, Daisy Foo shook her head in awe. “The Lees got everyone, didn’t they? The president and prime minister, all the Beijing top brass, Mrs. Lee Yong Chien, even Cassandra Shang flew back from London — and the Shangs never come to anything! Ten years ago the Lees were fresh off the boat from Mainland China, and look at them now — everyone who’s anyone is here today.”

“Speaking of anyone, look who just walked in … Alistair Cheng and Kitty Pong!” Nadine Shaw hissed.

“Well, she looks quite ladylike in that red-and-white polka-dot dress, doesn’t she?” Carol Tai graciously offered.

“Yes, that ruffled skirt almost appears to cover her buttocks,” Lorena Lim noted.

“Alamak, let’s see what happens when she tries to sit with the Youngs. Wah, so malu[78] for them! I bet she’ll be thrown out of the row,” Nadine said with glee. The ladies craned their necks to look, but much to their disappointment, Alistair and his new fiancée were greeted cordially by his relatives and ushered into the row.

“No such luck, Nadine. Those people are far too classy to make a public show out of it. But I bet you they are sharpening their knives in private. Meanwhile, that Rachel Chu looks like the Blessed Virgin compared to her. Poor Eleanor — her whole plan is backfiring!” Daisy sighed.

“Nothing is backfiring. Eleanor knows exactly what she’s doing,” Lorena said ominously.

At that moment, Eleanor Young walked up the aisle in a gunmetal-gray pantsuit that shimmered subtly, clearly delighting in the attention she was getting. She caught sight of Rachel and forced a smile. “Oh, hello there! Look Philip, it’s Rachel Chu!” In another designer dress. Every time I see this girl, she’s wearing something more expensive than the last time. My God, she must be draining Nicky’s money market account.

“Did you and Nicky stay up late last night? I bet you kids really went wild after we old fogies left the dato’s yacht, didn’t you?” Philip asked with a wink.

“No, not at all. Nick needed to get to bed early, so we headed home soon after you left.”

Eleanor smiled stiffly. The cheek of this girl to call Tyersall Park “home”!

Suddenly a hush fell over the crowd. Rachel thought at first that the ceremony was beginning, but when she glanced to the back of the church, all she saw was Astrid leading her grandmother up the aisle.

“My God, Mummy’s here!” Alexandra gasped.

“What? You must be hallucinating,” Victoria shot back, turning around in disbelief.

Oliver’s mouth was agape, and every head on the groom’s side of the church was trained on Astrid and her grandmother. Walking a few discreet paces behind them were the ubiquitous Thai lady’s maids and several Gurkhas.

“What’s the big deal?” Rachel whispered to Oliver.

“You don’t know how monumental this is. Su Yi hasn’t been seen at a public function like this in decades. She doesn’t go out to other people’s events — people come to her.”

A woman standing in the aisle suddenly dropped into a deep curtsy at the sight of Nick’s grandmother.

“Who’s that woman?” Rachel asked Oliver, mesmerized by the gesture.

“That’s the wife of the president. She was born a Wong. The Wongs were saved by Su Yi’s family during World War II, so they have always gone to great lengths to show their respect.”

Rachel gazed at Nick’s cousin and grandmother with renewed wonder, both so striking as they made their stately procession up the aisle. Astrid looked immaculately chic in a Majorelle-blue sleeveless halter-neck dress with gold cuff bracelets on both arms dramatically stacked all the way up to her elbows. Shang Su Yi was resplendent in a robe-like dress of pale violet that possessed the most distinctive gossamer sheen. “Nick’s grandmother looks amazing. That dress …”

“Ah yes, that’s one of her fabulous lotus-fabric dresses,” Oliver said.

“As in lotus flowers?” Rachel asked, to clarify.

“Yes, from the stem of the lotus flower, actually. It’s an extremely rare fabric that’s handwoven in Myanmar, and normally available only for the most high-ranking monks. I’m told that it feels incredibly light and has an extraordinary ability to keep cool in the hottest climates.”

As they approached, Su Yi was swarmed by her daughters.

“Mummy! Are you feeling okay?” Felicity asked in a worried tone.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Victoria snapped.

“Hiyah, we would have waited for you,” Alexandra said excitedly.

Su Yi waved away all the fuss. “Astrid convinced me at the last minute. She reminded me that I wouldn’t want to miss seeing Nicky as a best man.”

As she uttered those words, two trumpeters appeared at the foot of the altar to herald the arrival of the groom. Colin entered the main sanctuary from a side alcove, accompanied by Nick, Lionel Khoo, and Mehmet Sabançi, all in dark gray morning suits and silvery blue ties. Rachel couldn’t help but swell up with pride — Nick looked so dashing standing by the altar.

The lights in the sanctuary dimmed, and through a side door appeared a crowd of blond boys dressed in faun-like costumes of wispy white linen. Each rosy-cheeked boy clutched a glass jar filled with fireflies, and as more and more towheaded boys emerged to form two lines along both sides of the church sanctuary, Rachel realized there had to be at least a hundred of them. Illuminated by the flickering lights from their jars, the boys began to sing the classic English song “My True Love Hath My Heart.”

“I don’t believe it — it’s the Vienna Boys’ Choir! They flew in the fucking Vienna Boys’ Choir!” Oliver exclaimed.

“Aiyah, what sweet little angels,” Nancy gasped, overcome with emotion by the haunting alto voices. “It reminds me of the time King Hassan of Morocco invited us to his fort in the High Atlas Mountains—”

“Oh, do shut up!” Victoria said sharply, wiping tears from her eyes.

When the song ended, the orchestra, hidden in the transept, launched into the majestic strains of Michael Nyman’s “Prospero’s Magic” as sixteen bridesmaids in pearl-gray duchesse satin gowns entered the church, each holding an enormous curved branch of cherry blossom. Rachel recognized Francesca Shaw, Wandi Meggaharto, and a teary-eyed Sophie Khoo among them. The bridesmaids marched in choreographed precision, breaking off in pairs at different intervals so that they were spaced equally apart along the length of the aisle.

After the processional anthem, a young man in white tie stepped up to the altar with a violin in his hand. More murmurs of excitement filled the church as people realized that it was none other than Charlie Siem, the virtuoso violinist with matinee-idol looks. Siem began to play the first familiar chords of “Theme from Out of Africa,” and sighs of delight could be heard from the audience. Oliver noted, “It’s all about that chin, isn’t it, clenched against the violin as if he’s making savage love to it. That marvelous chin is what’s making all the ladies cream their knickers.”

The bridesmaids lifted their branches of cherry blossom high into the air, forming eight floral arches leading up to the altar, and the front doors of the church flung open dramatically. The bride appeared at the threshold, and there was a collective gasp from the crowd. For months magazine editors, gossip columnists, and fashion bloggers had speculated wildly over who might be designing Araminta’s dress. Since she was both a celebrated model and one of Asia’s budding fashion icons, expectations were high that she would wear a dress made by some avant-garde designer. But Araminta surprised everyone.

She walked down the aisle on her father’s arm in a classically inspired wedding dress designed by Valentino, whom she lured out of retirement to make precisely the sort of gown that generations of European princesses had gotten married in, the sort of gown that would make her look every inch the proper young wife from a very traditional, old-money Asian family. Valentino’s creation for Araminta featured a fitted high-necked lace bodice with long sleeves, a full skirt of overlapping lace and silk panels that unfurled like the petals of a peony as she moved, and a fifteen-foot train. (Giancarlo Giametti would later inform the press that the train, embroidered with ten thousand seed pearls and silver thread, took a team of twelve seamstresses nine months to sew and featured a pattern replicating the train Consuelo Vanderbilt wore when she fatefully wed the Duke of Marlborough in 1895.) Yet even in its baroque detail, the wedding gown did not overpower Araminta. Rather, it was the perfect extravagant foil against the stark minimalist wonderland her mother had so painstakingly created. Clutching a simple bouquet of stephanotis, with only a pair of antique pearl-drop earrings, the slightest hint of makeup, and her hair in a loose chignon adorned with nothing but a circlet of white narcissus, Araminta looked like a Pre-Raphaelite maiden floating through a sun-dappled forest.

From her seat in the front row, Annabel Lee, exultant in an Alexander McQueen dress of chiffon and gold lace, surveyed the faultlessly executed wedding procession and reveled in her family’s social triumph.

Across the aisle, Astrid sat listening to the violin solo, relieved that her plan had worked. In the excitement over her grandmother’s arrival, no one noticed that her husband was missing.

Sitting in his row, Eddie obsessed over which uncle could best introduce him to the chairman of the China Investment Corporation.

Standing by the altar, Colin gazed at the ravishing bride coming toward him, realizing that all the pain and fuss over the past few months had been worth it. “I can hardly believe it, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” he whispered to his best man.

Nick, moved by Colin’s reaction, searched the crowd for Rachel’s face. Where was she? Oh, there she was, looking more gorgeous than she’d ever looked. Nick knew at that very moment that he wanted more than anything to see Rachel walk up that same aisle toward him in a white gown.

Rachel, who had been staring at the bridal procession, turned toward the altar and noticed Nick gazing intently at her. She gave him a little wink.

“I love you,” Nick mouthed back to her.

Eleanor, witnessing this exchange, realized there was no more time to lose.

Araminta glided up the aisle, sneaking occasional peeks at her guests through her veil. She recognized friends, relatives, and many people she had only seen on television. Then she caught sight of Astrid. Imagine, Astrid Leong was at her wedding, and now they would be related through marriage. But wait a minute, that dress Astrid was wearing … wasn’t that the same blue Gaultier she had worn to Carol Tai’s Christian Helpers fashion benefit two months ago? As Araminta reached the altar where her future husband awaited, with the Bishop of Singapore in front of her and the most important people in Asia behind her, one thought alone crossed her mind: Astrid Leong, that damn bitch, couldn’t even be bothered to wear a new dress to her wedding.

5 Fort Canning Park

SINGAPORE

As the wedding guests began filtering into the park behind First Methodist Church for the reception, more gasps of astonishment could be heard.

“What now?” Victoria grumbled. “I’m so tired of all this ‘oohing’ and ‘aiyahing’—I keep thinking somebody is going into cardiac arrest!” But as Victoria passed through the gates at Canning Rise, even she was momentarily silenced by the sight of the great lawn. In stark contrast to the church, the wedding reception looked like an atomic explosion of flowers. Thirty-foot-tall topiaries in gigantic pots and colossal spirals of pink roses encircled the field, where dozens of whimsical gazebos festooned in striped pastel taffeta had been built. In the center, an immense teapot spouted a waterfall of bubbly champagne into a cup the size of a small swimming pool, and a full string ensemble performed on what appeared to be a giant revolving Wedgwood plate. The scale of everything made the guests feel as if they had been transported to a tea party for giants.

“Alamak, someone pinch me!” Puan Sri Mavis Oon exclaimed as she caught sight of the food pavilions, where waiters in powdered white wigs and Tiffany-blue frock coats stood at tables piled mountain-high with sweets and savories.

Oliver escorted Rachel and Cassandra onto the great lawn. “I’m a bit confused — is this supposed to be the Mad Hatter’s tea party or Marie Antoinette on a bad acid trip?”

“Looks like a combination of both,” Rachel remarked.

“Now what do you suppose they’re going to do with all these flowers once the reception ends?” Oliver wondered.

Cassandra stared up at the towering cascade of roses. “In this heat, they will all be rotten within three hours! I’m told the price of roses spiked to an all-time high this week at the Aalsmeer Flower Auction. Annabel bought up all the roses on the world market and had them flown in from Holland on a 747 freighter.”

Rachel looked around at the guests parading the floral wonderland in their festive hats, their jewels glinting in the afternoon sun, and shook her head in disbelief.

“Ollie, how much did you say these Mainlanders spent?” Cassandra asked.

“Forty million, and for heaven’s sake, Cassandra, the Lees have lived in Singapore for decades now. You need to stop calling them Mainlanders.”

“Well, they still behave like Mainlanders, as this ridiculous reception proves. Forty million — I just don’t see where all the money went.”

“Well I’ve been keeping a tally, and I’m only up to five or six million so far. God help us, I think the motherlode is being spent on tonight’s ball,” Oliver surmised.

“I can’t imagine how they’re going to top this,” Rachel said.

“Refreshments, anyone?” a voice behind her said. Rachel turned around to see Nick holding two glasses of champagne.

“Nick!” she cried excitedly.

“What did you all think of the wedding ceremony?” Nick asked, gallantly handing drinks to the ladies.

“Wedding? I could have sworn it was a coronation,” Oliver retorted. “Anyway, who cares about the ceremony? The important question is: What did everyone think of Araminta’s dress?”

“It was lovely. It looked deceptively simple, but the longer you stared at it, the more you noticed the details,” Rachel offered.

“Ugh. It was awful. She looked like some kind of medieval bride,” Cassandra sniggered.

“That was the point, Cassandra. I thought the dress was a triumph. Valentino at his best, channeling Botticelli’s Primavera and Marie de’ Medici’s arrival in Marseilles.”

“I have no idea what you just said, Ollie, but I agree.” Nick laughed.

“You looked so serious up there at the altar,” Rachel remarked.

“It was very serious business! Speaking of which, I’m going to steal Rachel away for a moment,” Nick said to his cousins, grasping Rachel’s hand.

“Hey — there are children around. No hanky-panky in the bushes!” Oliver warned.

“Alamak, Ollie, with Kitty Pong here, I don’t think Nicky’s the one we need to worry about,” Cassandra said drily.

Kitty stood in the middle of the great lawn, staring in wonder at everything around her. Here at last was something worth getting excited about! Her trip to Singapore so far had been nothing but a series of disappointments. First of all, they were staying at that cool new hotel with the huge park on the roof, but all the suites were booked up and they were stuck in a lousy regular room. And then there was Alistair’s family, who clearly weren’t as rich as she had been led to believe. Alistair’s auntie Felicity lived in an old wooden house with old Chinese furniture that wasn’t even polished properly. They were nothing compared to the rich families she knew in China, who lived in huge newly built mansions decorated by the top designers from Paris France. Then there was Alistair’s mother, who looked like one of those dowdy Family Planning Commission workers who used to come to her village in Qinghai to give advice about birth control. At last they were finally at this fairy-tale wedding reception, where she could be surrounded by the crème de la crème of society.

“Isn’t that fellow in the bow tie the chief executive of Hong Kong?” Kitty whispered loudly to Alistair.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Alistair answered.

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve met him once or twice — my parents know him.”

“Really? Where are your parents, by the way? They disappeared so quickly after the wedding, I didn’t even get a chance to say hi,” Kitty said with a little pout.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. My dad’s right there piling his plate with langoustines, and my mum is over in that purple-striped gazebo with my grandmother.”

“Oh, your Ah Ma is here?” Kitty said, peering at the gazebo. “There are so many old ladies in there — which one is she?”

Alistair pointed her out.

“Who is that woman talking to her right now? The one in the yellow head scarf, covered head to toe in diamonds!”

“Oh, that’s one of my Ah Ma’s old friends. I think she’s some sort of Malay princess.”

“Oooh, a princess? Take me to meet her now!” Kitty insisted, dragging Alistair away from the dessert tent.

In the gazebo, Alexandra noticed her son and that strumpet (she refused to call her his fiancée) walking intently toward her. Hiyah, were they actually on their way here? Did Alistair not have the sense to keep Kitty away from his grandmother, especially when she was receiving Mrs. Lee Yong Chien and the Sultana of Borneo?

“Astrid, it’s getting a bit crowded. Will you please tell the sultana’s bodyguards to make sure no one else is allowed in?” she whispered to her niece, her eyes darting frantically at Alistair and Kitty.

“Of course, Auntie Alix,” Astrid said.

As Alistair and Kitty approached the gazebo, three guards in crisp military dress uniforms blocked the steps in front of it. “Sorry, no more people allowed in,” a guard announced.

“Oh, but my family’s in there. That’s my mother and grandmother.” Alistair pointed, peering over the guard’s shoulder. He tried to catch his mother’s eye, but she seemed to be engrossed in conversation with her cousin Cassandra.

“Yoohoo!” Kitty cried out. She took off her huge polka-dotted straw hat and began waving it excitedly, jumping up and down. “Yoohoo, Mrs. Cheng!”

Alistair’s grandmother peered out and asked, “Who is that girl jumping about?”

Alexandra wished at that moment she had put an end to her son’s ridiculous romance when she’d had the chance.

“It’s nobody. Just someone trying to get a glimpse of Her Royal Highness,” Astrid cut in, gesturing toward the sultana.

“Is that Alistair with the jumping girl?” Su Yi asked, squinting her eyes.

“Trust me, Mummy, just ignore them,” Alexandra whispered nervously.

Cassandra decided that it would be far more amusing to throw a wrench into this little charade. “Aiyah, Koo Por,[79] that’s Alistair’s new girlfriend,” she said mischievously, as Alexandra glared at her in exasperation.

“The Hong Kong starlet you were telling me about, Cassandra? Let her in — I want to meet her,” Su Yi said. She turned to Mrs. Lee Yong Chien with a gleam in her eye. “My youngest grandson is dating some Hong Kong soap-opera actress.”

“An actress?” Mrs. Lee made a face, as Alistair and Kitty were allowed into the gazebo.

“Ah Ma, I want you to meet my fiancée, Kitty Pong,” Alistair boldly announced in Cantonese.

“Your fiancée? Nobody told me you got engaged,” Su Yi said, shooting her daughter a look of surprise. Alexandra couldn’t bear to make eye contact with her mother.

“So nice to meet you,” Kitty said in a perfunctory tone, utterly disinterested in Alistair’s elderly grandma. She turned to the sultana and dipped into a deep curtsey. “Your Honor, it is such a privilege to meet you!”

Cassandra turned away, trying to keep a straight face, while the other ladies glowered at Kitty.

“Wait a minute, are you the youngest sister in Many Splendid Things?” the sultana suddenly asked.

“Yes, she is,” Alistair proudly answered for her.

“Alamaaaaak, I love your show!” the sultana exclaimed. “My God, you’re so eeeeee-vil! Tell me, you didn’t really die in that tsunami, did you?”

Kitty grinned. “I’m not telling you — you’ll just have to wait for next season. Your Gracefulness, your jewels are magnificent. Is that diamond brooch real? It’s bigger than a golf ball!”

The sultana nodded her head in amusement. “It’s called the Star of Malaya.”

“Ooooh, can I touch it, Your Highness?” Kitty asked. Mrs. Lee Yong Chien was about to protest, but the sultana eagerly leaned forward.

“My God, feel the weight!” Kitty sighed, cupping the diamond in her palm. “How many carats?”

“One hundred and eighteen,” the sultana declared.

“One day, you’ll buy me something just like this, won’t you?” Kitty said to Alistair unabashedly. The other ladies were aghast.

The sultana reached for her bejeweled handbag and pulled out an embroidered lace handkerchief. “Will you please autograph this?” she asked Kitty expectantly.

“Your Majesticness, it would be my pleasure!” Kitty beamed.

The sultana turned to Shang Su Yi, who had been surveying the whole exchange with bemused interest. “This is your grandson’s fiancée? How delightful. Be sure you invite me to the wedding!” The sultana began to wiggle off one of the three humongous diamond rings on her left hand and handed it to Kitty, as the ladies looked on in horror. “Congratulations on your engagement — this is for you. Taniah dan semoga kamu gembira selalu.”[80]

The farther Nick and Rachel walked from the great lawn, the more the park began to change. The strains of the string ensemble gave way to birds with strangely hypnotic chirps as they entered a pathway shaded by the sprawling branches of two-hundred-year-old Angsana trees. “I love it over here — it’s like we’re on a whole other island,” Rachel said, savoring the cool relief underneath the lush canopy.

“I love it here too. We’re in the oldest part of the park, an area that’s sacred to the Malays,” Nick explained quietly. “You know, back when the island was called Singapura and was part of the ancient Majapahit empire, this is where they built a shrine to the last king.”

“ ‘The Last King of Singapura.’ Sounds like a movie. Why don’t you write the screenplay?” Rachel remarked.

“Ha! I think it’ll draw an audience of about four,” Nick replied.

They reached a clearing in the pathway, and a small colonial-era structure covered in moss came into view. “Whoa — is this the shrine?” Rachel asked, lowering her voice.

“No, this is the gatehouse. When the British came in the nineteenth century, they built a fort here,” Nick explained as they approached the structure and the pair of massive iron doors under the archway. The doors were wide open, flush against the inner wall of the tunnel-like gatehouse, and Nick slowly pulled on one of the heavy doors, revealing a dark narrow entrance cut into the thick stonework, and beyond it the steps leading to the roof of the gatehouse.

“Welcome to my hideout,” Nick whispered, his voice echoing in the tight stairway.

“Is it safe to go up?” Rachel asked, assessing steps that looked like they hadn’t been treaded on in decades.

“Of course. I used to come up here all the time,” Nick said, bounding up the steps eagerly. “Come on!”

Rachel followed gingerly, taking care not to rub any part of her pristine dress against the dirt-caked stairway. The roof was covered in freshly fallen leaves, gnarled tree branches, and the remnants of an old cannon. “Pretty cool, isn’t it? At one point, there were more than sixty cannons lining the battlements of the fort. Come take a look at this!” Nick said excitedly as he disappeared around the corner. Rachel could hear the schoolboy adventurer in his voice. Along the south wall, someone had scrawled long vertical lines of Chinese characters in what looked like a muddy-brown color. “Written with blood,” Nick said in a hushed voice.

Rachel stared at the characters in amazement. “I can’t make them out … it’s so faded, and it’s that old form of Chinese. What do you think happened?”

“We used to make up theories about it. The one I came up with was that some poor prisoner was chained here and left to die by Japanese soldiers.”

“I’m getting sort of creeped out,” Rachel said, shaking off a sudden chill.

“Well, you wanted to see the proverbial ‘sacred cave.’ This is as close to it as you’re going to get. I used to bring my girlfriends up here to make out after Sunday school. This is where I had my first kiss,” Nick announced brightly.

“Of course it is. I couldn’t imagine a more eerily romantic hideout,” Rachel said.

Nick pulled Rachel closer. She thought they were about to kiss, but Nick’s expression seemed to shift into a more serious mode. He thought of the way she looked earlier that morning, with the light streaming in through the stained-glass windows and glinting on her hair.

“You know, when I saw you in the church today sitting with my family, do you know what I thought?”

Rachel could feel her heart suddenly begin to race. “Whh … what?”

Nick paused, gazing deeply into her eyes. “This feeling came over me, and I just knew tha—”

The sound of someone coming up the stairs suddenly interrupted them, and they broke away from their embrace. A ravishing girl with a short-cropped Jean Seberg hairstyle appeared at the top of the stairs, and behind her shuffled a portly Caucasian man. Rachel immediately recognized the hand-painted Dries Van Noten dress from Patric’s atelier that the girl was wearing.

“Mandy!” Nick gasped in surprise.

“Nico!” the girl replied with a smile.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here, silly rabbit? I had to escape from that taaaaacky reception. Did you see that ghastly giant teapot? I half expected it to get up and start singing in Angela Lansbury’s voice,” she said, shifting her gaze onto Rachel.

Great. Another Singapore girl with a posh English accent, Rachel thought.

“Where are my manners?” Nick quickly recovered. “Rachel, this is Amanda Ling. You might remember meeting her mum, Jacqueline, the other night at Ah Ma’s.”

Rachel smiled and extended her hand.

“And this is Zvi Goldberg,” Mandy reciprocated. Zvi nodded quickly, still trying to catch his breath. “Well, I came up here to show Zvi the place where I received my first kiss. And would you believe it, Zvi, the boy who kissed me is standing right before us,” Mandy said, looking straight at Nick.

Rachel turned to Nick with a raised eyebrow. His cheeks were bright red.

“You gotta be kidding! You guys plan this reunion or something?” Zvi cracked.

“Swear to God we didn’t. This is a complete coincidence,” Mandy declared.

“Yes, I thought you were dead set against coming to the wedding,” Nick said.

“Well, I changed my mind at the last minute. Especially since Zvi has this fabulous new plane that can zip around so quickly — our flight from New York only took fifteen hours!”

“Oh, you live in New York too?” Rachel inquired.

“Yes, I do. What, has Nico never mentioned me to you? Nico, I’m so hurt,” Mandy said in mock outrage. She turned to Rachel with a placid smile. “I feel like I have an unfair advantage, since I’ve heard loads about you.”

“You have?” Rachel couldn’t hide her look of surprise. Why had Nick never once mentioned this friend of his, this beautiful girl who inexplicably kept calling him Nico? Rachel gave Nick a measured look, but he simply smiled back, oblivious to the nagging thoughts filling her mind.

“Well, I suppose we ought to get back to the reception,” Mandy suggested. As the foursome made their way toward the stairs, Mandy halted abruptly. “Oh look, Nico. I can’t believe it — it’s still here!” She traced her fingers over a section of the wall right beside the staircase.

Rachel peered at the wall and saw the names Nico and Mandi carved into the rock, joined together by an infinity symbol.

6 Tyersall Park

SINGAPORE

Alexandra walked onto the veranda to find her sister, Victoria, and her daughter-in-law, Fiona, having afternoon tea with her mother. Victoria looked rather comical with a dramatic opera-length necklace of mine-cut cognac diamonds casually draped over her gingham shirt. Obviously, Mummy was doling out jewelry again, something she seemed to be doing with greater frequency these days.

“I’ve been labeling every piece in the vault and putting them in cases marked with all your names,” Su Yi had informed Alexandra during her visit last year. “This way there is no fighting after I’m gone.”

“There won’t be any fighting, Mummy,” Alexandra had insisted.

“You say that now. But look what happened to Madam Lim Boon Peck’s family. Or the Hu sisters. Whole families torn apart over jewelry. And not even very good jewelry!” Su Yi had sighed.

As Alexandra approached the wrought-iron table where sweetly aromatic kueh lapis[81] and pineapple tarts were arrayed on Longquan celadon dishes, Su Yi was taking out a diamond and cabochon sapphire choker. “This one my father brought back from Shanghai in 1918,” Su Yi said to Fiona in Cantonese. “My mother told me it belonged to a grand duchess who had escaped Russia on the Trans-Siberian Railway with all her jewels sewn into the lining of her coat. Here, try it on.”

Fiona put the choker around her neck, and one of Su Yi’s Thai lady’s maids helped to fasten the delicate antique clasp. The other maid held up a hand mirror, and Fiona peered at her reflection. Even in the waning late-afternoon light, the sapphires glistened against her neck. “It’s truly exquisite, Ah Ma.”

“I’ve always liked it because these sapphires are so translucent — I’ve never quite seen a shade of blue like that,” Su Yi said.

Fiona handed back the necklace, and Su Yi slipped it into a yellow silk pouch before handing it to Fiona. “Nah, you should wear it tonight to the wedding banquet.”

“Oh, Ah Ma, I couldn’t possibly—” Fiona began.

“Aiyah, moh hak hei,[82] it’s yours now. Make sure it goes to Kalliste someday,” Su Yi decreed. She turned to Alexandra and said, “Do you need something for tonight?”

Alexandra shook her head. “I brought my triple-strand pearls.”

“You always wear those pearls,” Victoria complained, casually twirling her new diamonds around her fingers as if they were toy beads.

“I like my pearls. Besides, I don’t want to look like one of those Khoo women. Did you see how much jewelry they piled on this morning? Ridiculous.”

“Those Khoos sure like to flaunt it, don’t they,” Victoria said with a laugh, popping one of the crumbly pineapple tarts into her mouth.

“Aiyah, who cares? Khoo Teck Fong’s father came from a little village in Sarawak — I will always know him as the man who used to buy my mother’s old silver,” Su Yi said dismissively. “Now, speaking of jewelry, I want to talk about Alistair’s girlfriend—that starlet.”

Alexandra flinched, steeling herself for the onslaught. “Yes, Mummy, I’m sure you were as appalled as I was by that woman’s behavior today.”

“The audacity of her to accept that ring from the sultana! It was so undignified, not to mention—” Victoria began.

Su Yi held out her hand to silence Victoria. “Why wasn’t I told that Alistair was engaged to her?”

“It just happened a few days ago,” Alexandra said bleakly.

“But who is she? Who are her people?”

“I don’t know precisely,” Alexandra said.

“How is it possible that you don’t know the family, when your son wants to take her as his wife?” Su Yi said in astonishment. “Look at Fiona here — we have known her family for generations. Fiona, do you know this girl’s family?”

Fiona grimaced, making no attempt to hide her disdain. “Ah Ma, I never set eyes on her until two days ago at Auntie Felicity’s.”

“Cassandra told me the girl showed up at Felicity’s wearing a see-through dress. Is that true?” Su Yi asked.

“Yes,” the three ladies droned in unison.

“Tien,[83] ah, what is this world coming to?” Su Yi shook her head, taking a slow sip from her teacup.

“Clearly the girl has not been brought up well,” Victoria said.

“She’s not been brought up at all. She’s not Taiwanese, even though she claims to be, and she’s certainly not from Hong Kong. I’ve heard that she is from some remote village in northern China,” Fiona offered.

“Tsk, those northern Chinese are the worst!” Victoria huffed, nibbling on a slice of kueh lapis.

“Where she’s from is irrelevant. My youngest grandson is not going to marry some actress, especially one of questionable lineage,” Su Yi said simply. Turning to Alexandra, she said, “You will tell him to break off the engagement immediately.”

“His father has agreed to talk to him when we return to Hong Kong.”

“I don’t think that will be soon enough, Alix. The girl needs to be sent packing before she does something more offensive. I can only imagine what she’s going to wear to the ball tonight,” Victoria said.

“Well, what about Rachel, that girlfriend of Nicky’s?” Alexandra said, trying to deflect the focus from her son.

“What about her?” Su Yi asked, puzzled.

“Aren’t you concerned about her as well? I mean, we know nothing of her family.”

“Aiyah, she’s just a pretty girl that Nicky’s having fun with.” Su Yi laughed, as if the idea of him marrying Rachel was too ridiculous to even consider.

“That’s not the way it looks to me,” Alexandra warned.

“Nonsense. Nicky has no intentions with this girl — he told me so himself. And besides, he would never do anything without my permission. Alistair simply needs to obey your wishes,” Su Yi said with finality.

“Mummy, I’m not sure it’s that simple. That boy can be so stubborn. I tried to get him to stop dating her months ago, but—” Alexandra began.

“Alix, why don’t you just threaten to cut him off? Stop his allowance or something,” Victoria suggested.

“Allowance? He doesn’t get an allowance. Alistair isn’t concerned about money — he supports himself with those odd jobs on films, so he has always done exactly as he pleases.”

“You know, Alistair might not care about money, but I’ll bet you that trollop does,” Victoria expostulated. “Alix, you need to give her a good talking-to. Make her understand that it is impossible for her to marry Alistair, and that you will cut him off forever if she does.”

“I don’t know how I would even begin,” Alexandra said. “Why don’t you talk to her, Victoria? You’re so good at this sort of thing.”

“Me? Good grief, I don’t intend to exchange a single word with that girl!” Victoria declared.

“Tien, ah, you are all hopeless!” Su Yi groaned. Turning to one of her lady’s maids, she ordered, “Call Oliver T’sien. Tell him to come over right away.”

On the way home from the wedding reception, Nick had assured Rachel that his relationship with Mandy was ancient history. “We dated on and off till I was eighteen and went off to Oxford. It was puppy love. Now we’re just old friends who meet up every once in a while. You know, she lives in New York but we hardly ever meet — she’s way too busy going to A-list parties with that Zvi fellow,” Nick said.

Still, Rachel had sensed a distinctly territorial vibe coming from Mandy back at the fort, making her wonder if Mandy was truly over Nick. Now, as she was getting dressed for the most formal event she had ever been invited to, she wondered how she would compare to Mandy and all the other impossibly chic women in Nick’s orbit. She stood in front of the mirror, assessing herself. Her hair had been swept up into a loose French twist and pinned with three violet orchid blossoms, and she was wearing a midnight blue off-the-shoulder gown that draped elegantly across her hips before flaring out just above the knees into luxuriant folds of silk organza scattered with tiny freshwater pearls. She scarcely recognized herself.

There was a jaunty rap on the door. “Are you decent?” Nick called out.

“Yes, come in!” Rachel replied.

Nick opened the bedroom door and stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh wow!” he said.

“You like it?” Rachel asked bashfully.

“You look stunning,” Nick said, almost in a whisper.

“Do these flowers in my hair look silly?”

“Not at all.” Nick circled around her, admiring how the thousands of pearls shimmered like faraway stars. “It makes you look glamorous and exotic at the same time.”

“Thanks. You look pretty awesome yourself,” Rachel declared, admiring how utterly debonair Nick looked in his dinner jacket, with its streamlined grosgrain lapels perfectly accentuating his crisp white bow tie.

“Ready for your carriage?” Nick asked, entwining his arm through hers in a courtly manner.

“I guess so,” Rachel said, exhaling deeply. As they walked out of the bedroom, little Augustine Cheng came racing down the corridor.

“Whoa, Augustine, you’re going to break your neck,” Nick said, stopping him in his tracks. The little boy looked terrified.

“What’s wrong, little man?” Nick asked.

“I need to hide.” Augustine was panting.

“Why?”

“Papa’s after me. I spilled Orange Fanta all over his new suit.”

“Oh no!” Rachel said, trying not to giggle.

“He said he was going to kill me,” the boy said, shaking, with tears in his eyes.

“Oh, he’ll get over it. Come with us. I’ll make sure your father doesn’t kill you.” Nick laughed, taking Augustine by the hand.

At the bottom of the stairs, Eddie was arguing in Cantonese with Ling Cheh, the head housekeeper, and Nasi, the head laundry maid, while Fiona stood next to him in her Weimaraner-gray evening gown looking exasperated.

“I’m telling you, this type of fabric needs to soak for a few hours if you want to get the stain out properly,” the head laundry maid explained.

“A few hours? But we need to be at the wedding ball by seven thirty! This is an emergency, do you understand?” Eddie shouted, glaring at the Malay woman as if she didn’t understand English.

“Eddie, there’s no need to raise your voice. She understands,” Fiona said.

“How many laundry maids does my grandmother keep? There must be at least ten of you! Don’t tell me you people can’t fix this right now,” Eddie complained to Ling Cheh.

“Eddieboy, even if there were twenty of them, there’s no way it will be ready for tonight,” Ling Cheh insisted.

“But what am I going to wear? I had this tux specially made for me in Milan! Do you know how much it cost me?”

“I’m sure it was very, very expensive. And that’s exactly why we need to be gentle and let the stain lift properly,” Ling Cheh said, shaking her head. Eddieboy had been a pompous little monster even when he was five.

Eddie glanced up the staircase and noticed Augustine coming down with Nick and Rachel. “YOU LITTLE SHIT!” he screamed.

“Eddie, control yourself!” Fiona admonished.

“I’m going to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget!” Incandescent with rage, Eddie began to storm up the stairs.

“Stop it, Eddie,” Fiona said, grabbing hold of his arm.

“You’re wrinkling my shirt, Fi!” Eddie scowled. “Like mother like son—”

“Eddie, you need to calm down. Just wear one of the other two tuxes you brought,” Fiona said in a measured tone.

“Don’t be stupid! I’ve already worn both of those the past two nights. I had everything perfectly planned until this little bastard came along! Stop hiding, you little bastard! Be a man and accept your punishment!” Eddie broke free from his wife and lunged toward the boy with his right arm outstretched.

Augustine whimpered, cowering behind Nick. “Eddie, you’re not really going to hit your six-year-old son over a harmless accident, are you?” Nick said lightheartedly.

“Harmless? Fucky fuck, he’s ruined everything! The monochromatic fashion statement I was planning for the whole family is RUINED because of him!”

“And you’ve just ruined the whole trip for me!” Fiona suddenly blurted out. “I’m so sick of all this. Why is it so damn important for us to look picture-perfect every time we walk out the door? Who exactly are you trying to impress? The photographers? The readers of Hong Kong Tattle? You really care so much about them that you’d rather hit your own son over an accident that you caused in the first place by screaming at him for wearing the wrong cummerbund?”

“But, but …” Eddie sputtered in protest.

Fiona turned to Nick, her serene expression returning. “Nick, can my children and I ride with you to the ball?”

“Er … if you’d like,” Nick said cautiously, not wanting to further incite his cousin.

“Good. I have no desire to be seen with a tyrant.” Fiona took Augustine by the hand and started up the stairs. She paused for a moment as she passed Rachel. “You look amazing in that dress. But you know what? It needs something.” Fiona proceeded to take off the sapphire-and-diamond choker she had just been given by Su Yi and placed it around Rachel’s neck. “Now the outfit looks complete. I insist that you borrow it for tonight.”

“You’re too kind, but what will you wear?” Rachel asked in astonishment.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Fiona said, giving her husband a dark stare. “I’m not going to be wearing a single piece of jewelry tonight. I was born a Tung, and I have nothing to prove to anyone.”

7 Pasir Panjang Road

SINGAPORE

“Never, never let young people plan their own weddings, because this is what you end up with!” Mrs. Lee Yong Chien fumed to Puan Sri Mavis Oon. They were standing in the middle of an enormous warehouse in the Keppel Shipyard along with seven hundred other VIPs and VVIPs, utterly baffled by the Cuban band dressed in forties Tropicana splendor on the stage. People like Mrs. Lee were used to only one kind of Chinese wedding banquet — the kind that took place in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel. There would be the gorging on salted peanuts during the interminable wait for the fourteen-course dinner to begin, the melting ice sculptures, the outlandish floral centerpieces, the society matron invariably offended by the faraway table she had been placed at, the entrance of the bride, the malfunctioning smoke machine, the entrance of the bride again and again in five different gowns throughout the night, the crying child choking on a fish ball, the three dozen speeches by politicians, token ang mor executives and assorted high-ranking officials of no relation to the wedding couple, the cutting of the twelve-tier cake, someone’s mistress making a scene, the not so subtle counting of wedding cash envelopes by some cousin,[84] the ghastly Canto pop star flown in from Hong Kong to scream some pop song (a chance for the older crowd to take an extended toilet break), the distribution of tiny wedding fruitcakes with white icing in paper boxes to all the departing guests, and then Yum seng![85]—the whole affair would be over and everyone would make the mad dash to the hotel lobby to wait half an hour for their car and driver to make it through the traffic jam.

Tonight, however, there was none of that. There was just an industrial space with waiters bearing mojitos and a woman with short, slicked-back hair in a white tuxedo belting out “Besame Mucho.” Glancing around, Rachel was amused by the looks of bafflement on the faces of the arriving guests decked out in their most ostentatious finery.

“These women really brought out the big guns tonight, didn’t they?” Rachel whispered to Nick as she eyed a woman sporting a cape of metallic-gold feathers.

“Sure looks like it! Was that Queen Nefertiti who just walked by?” Nick joked.

“Shut your mouth, Nicholas — that’s Patsy Wang. She’s a Hong Kong socialite renowned for her avant-garde style. There are dozens of blogs out there devoted to her,” Oliver commented.

“Who’s the guy with her? The one in the diamond-studded jacket who looks like he’s wearing eye shadow?” Rachel queried.

“That’s her husband, Adam, and he is wearing eye shadow,” Oliver answered.

“They’re married? Really?” Rachel raised a doubting eyebrow.

“Yes, and they even have three children to prove it. You have to understand, many Hong Kong men revel in being fashionistas — they are dandies in the truest sense of the word. How flamboyantly dressed they might be is no indication of which team they play on.”

“Fascinating,” Rachel said.

“You can always tell Singapore men from Hong Kong men,” Nick chimed in. “We’re the ones dressed like we’re still wearing our school uniforms, while they look more like—”

“David Bowie impersonators,” Oliver finished.

“Thanks, Ollie. I was going to go with Elton John.” Nick chuckled.

As if on cue, the lights in the warehouse dimmed and the loading-dock doors behind the stage began to rise, revealing a line of sleek white ferries waiting harborside. Flaming torches lit the way to the pier, and a line of men dressed in Swedish sailor outfits stood ready to guide the guests onto the ferries. The crowd roared in approval.

“The other shoe drops,” Oliver said gleefully.

“Where do you think we’re going?” Rachel asked.

“You’ll soon see,” Nick said with a wink.

As the guests streamed onto the pier, Astrid made sure to board the ferry carrying a mix of international guests rather than the one filled with her nosy relatives. She had already been asked “Where’s Michael?” too many times and was sick of parroting new variations of her excuse. As she leaned against the railing at the back of the ferry, peering at the frothy waves as the vessel pulled away from the embankment, she felt someone staring at her. She turned to see Charlie Wu, her old flame, on the upper deck. Charlie flushed bright red when he realized he’d been caught staring. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to come downstairs.

“Long time no see,” he said as nonchalantly as possible. In fact, it had been almost ten years since that fateful day when Astrid had thrown a Frosty in his face outside of the old Wendy’s on Orchard Road.

“Yes,” Astrid said with an apologetic smile. She assessed him for a moment, thinking that he looked better with a little age on him. Those rimless glasses suited him, his gangly frame had filled out, and the once problematic acne scarring now gave his face a finely weathered look. “How’s life treating you? You moved to Hong Kong a few years ago, didn’t you?”

“I can’t complain. Too busy with work, but isn’t that the case with everyone?” Charlie mused.

“Well, not everyone owns the largest digital technology company in Asia. Aren’t they calling you the Asian Steve Jobs these days?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. Impossible shoes to fill.” Charlie looked at her again, unsure of what to say. She looked more exquisite than ever in that chartreuse cheongsam. Funny how you could be so intimate with someone for so many years, and yet feel so painfully awkward around them now. “So I hear you got married to some hotshot army guy, and you have a son.”

“Yes, Cassian … he’s three,” Astrid replied, adding preemptively, “and my husband works in the tech industry like you now. He had to run off to China at the last minute to handle some huge system meltdown. And you have a son and a daughter, don’t you?”

“No, two daughters. Still no boy yet, much to my mother’s dismay. But my brother Rob has three boys, which keeps her placated for the time being.”

“And your wife? Is she here tonight?” Astrid asked.

“No, no, I’m the only one flying the flag for my family. You know, they only invited eight hundred and eighty-eight guests, so I hear that unless you were family, a head of state, or a member of royalty, your spouse didn’t get invited.”

“Is that so?” Astrid laughed. I treated Charlie horribly. He didn’t deserve to be chucked aside like that, but everyone was putting so much pressure on me about marrying Wu Hao Lian’s son back in those days. There was an awkward silence, but they were thankfully saved by the gasps of astonishment from the crowd. The ferry was fast approaching one of the outlying islands, and coming into view was what looked like a crystal palace glowing in the middle of the dense forest. Charlie and Astrid stared in awe as the full complexity of the structure became apparent.

The cathedral-like banquet hall consisted of immense trapezoidal canopies of glass that were seemingly integrated into the tropical rain forest. Trees grew out from some of the glass panels, while others were contained within its dramatically angled panes. Intersecting the main structure were cantilevered terraces of varying heights, with a profusion of tropical vines and flowers spilling out over each terrace. The whole place looked like a futuristic Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and standing at the harbor promenade flanked by a row of travertine columns were Colin and Araminta, both dressed in white, waving to the arriving guests.

Astrid took one look at them and deadpanned in a Latin accent, “Welcome to Fantasy Island!”

Charlie laughed. He had forgotten her wacky sense of humor.

“I guess this is how you spend forty million on a wedding,” Astrid remarked drily.

“Oh, that thing costs way more than forty million,” Charlie said.

Araminta, in a pleated white chiffon-silk gown with long straps of hammered gold and diamond links that crisscrossed her bodice, greeted her guests. Her hair was piled high into a mound of intricate braids and festooned with diamonds, baroque pearls, and moonstones. As the gown billowed around her in the ocean breeze, she could have been mistaken for an Etruscan goddess. Standing at her side, looking a little worn out from the day’s festivities, was Colin in a white linen tuxedo.

Looking through the crowd, Araminta asked Colin, “Do you see your cousin Astrid anywhere?”

“I saw her brothers, but I haven’t spotted her yet,” Colin answered.

“Let me know the minute you spot her — I need to know what she’s wearing tonight!”

“I spy Astrid disembarking from the third ferry,” Colin reported.

“Alamak, she’s wearing a cheongsam! Why didn’t she wear one of her fabulous couture creations?” Araminta sighed.

“I think she looks lovely, and that cheongsam was probably handmade—”

“But I was waiting to see what designer she would turn up in! I go to all this trouble, and she doesn’t even bother to make the effort. What’s the whole fucking point of this wedding?” Araminta moaned.

When the last boatload of guests had disembarked, the illuminated crystalline façade of the banquet hall suddenly morphed into an intense shade of fuschia. Haunting New Age music boomed from the surrounding forest, and the trees were bathed in golden light. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, golden cords descended from the thick foliage. Wrapped cocoon-like in these cords were acrobats with bodies that had been painted gold. “Oh my goodness — I think it’s Cirque du Soleil!” the guests began murmuring excitedly. As the acrobats started to unfurl and spin around the cords as effortlessly as lemurs, the crowd broke into rapturous applause.

Kitty jumped up and down like a hyperactive child.

“You seem to be having a good time,” Oliver said, sidling up next to her and noticing that her breasts didn’t seem to jiggle naturally inside that lacey turquoise gown. He also noticed that she had a thin sheen of body glitter on. Bad combo, he thought.

“I love Cirque du Soleil! I’ve gone to every single one of their performances in Hong Kong. Now, I must have these acrobats at my wedding too.”

“My goodness, that will be costly,” Oliver said in exaggerated awe.

“Oh, Alistair can handle it,” Kitty replied breezily.

“You think so? I didn’t realize Alistair was doing that well in the movie business.”

“Hiyah, don’t you think his parents will pay for the wedding?” Kitty said as she stared at the gold-painted acrobats while they began to form a human arch.

“Are you kidding me?” Oliver lowered his voice, continuing, “Do you have any idea how cheap his mother is?”

“She is?”

“Haven’t you been to that flat of theirs on Robinson Road?”

“Er … no. I was never invited.”

“That’s probably because Alistair was too embarrassed to show it to you. It’s a very basic three-bedroom flat. Alistair had to share a bedroom with his brother until he went to college. I went to visit in 1991, and there were these yellow floral bath mats in the toilet. And when I went again last month, the yellow floral bath mats were still there, except that they are grayish floral now.”

“Really?” Kitty said in disbelief.

“Well, look at his mother. You think she wears those old eighties dresses on purpose? She wears them to save money.”

“But I thought Alistair’s father is a famous heart doctor?” Kitty was confused.

Oliver paused. Thank God she didn’t seem to know about the Chengs’ massive real estate holdings. “Do you have any idea how much malpractice insurance costs these days? Doctors don’t make as much money as you think. Do you know how much it costs to send three children to study overseas? Eddie went to Cambridge, Cecilia went to UBC,[86] and Alistair — well, you know how long Alistair took to graduate from Sydney University. The Chengs spent most of their savings on their children’s education.”

“I had no idea.”

“And you know how Malcolm is. He’s a traditional Cantonese man — what remaining money he has will all go to his eldest son.”

Kitty went quiet, and Oliver prayed he hadn’t laid it on too thick.

“But of course, I know none of that is important to you,” he added. “You’re in love, and you don’t really need Cirque du Soleil performing at your wedding, do you? I mean, you’ll get to stare at that cute puppy-dog face of Alistair’s every morning for the rest of your life. That’s worth all the money in the world, isn’t it?”

8 Pulau Samsara

OFF THE SOUTHERN COAST OF SINGAPORE

At nine o’clock sharp, the wedding-ball attendees were led into the vast banquet hall set amid the indigenous tropical rain forest. Along the south walls were archways that led to grotto-like alcoves, while the curved north wall consisted of a curtain of glass that overlooked a man-made lagoon and a dramatic waterfall tumbling over moss-covered boulders. All along the edge of the lagoon, a profusion of exotic flowers and plants seemed to glow in iridescent colors.

“Did they build all this just for the wedding banquet?” Carol Tai asked in astonishment.

“No, lah! Those Lees always have business on their mind — this building is the centerpiece of a new luxury eco-resort they are developing — Pulau Samsara, they’re calling it,” her husband revealed.

“What, are they going to try to sell us condos after the wedding cake is served?” Lorena Lim sniggered.

“They can give this resort some fancy new name, but I know for a fact the island used to be called Pulau Hantu—‘Ghost Island.’ It was one of the outlying islands where the Japanese soldiers took all the young able-bodied Chinese men and had them shot during World War II. This island is haunted with ghosts of the war dead,” Daisy Foo whispered.

“Alamak, Daisy, if you truly have faith in the Lord, you won’t believe in such things as ghosts!” Carol admonished.

“Well, what about the Holy Ghost, Carol? Isn’t he a ghost too?” Daisy retorted.

Minutes after Rachel and Nick were seated, the dinner began with military precision as a battalion of waiters marched in with glowing LED-domed trays. The engraved menu card indicated that it was Giant South Sea Scallop Consommé with Washington State Ginseng Vapors and Black Mushrooms,[87] but Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to do when the white-gloved waiter at her side lifted the shimmering dome off her plate. In front of her was a bowl, but encasing the surface of the bowl was what appeared to be a pinkish, membrane-like bubble that wobbled on its own accord.

“What are we supposed to do with this?” Rachel asked.

“Just pop it!” Nick encouraged.

Rachel looked at it, giggling. “I’m afraid! I feel like some alien creature is going to burst out of it.”

“Here, stand back, I’ll pop it for you,” Mehmet, who was on her right, offered.

“No, no, I’ll do it,” Rachel said bravely. She gave it a jab with her fork, and the bubble immediately collapsed on itself, releasing a burst of pungent medicinal steam into the air. As the filmy pink membrane met the surface of the soup, it created a beautiful marbleized pattern across its surface. Rachel could now see an enormous poached scallop in the middle of the bowl and thinly julienned black mushrooms artfully positioned like sun rays around it.

“Hmm. I gather the bubble was the ginseng,” Mehmet said. “It’s always guesswork when you’re eating molecular cuisine, even more so when it’s Pacific Rim fusion molecular cuisine. What is the name of this culinary genius again?”

“I can’t remember exactly, but supposedly he trained with Chan Yan-tak before going to do an apprenticeship at El Bulli,” Nick replied. “It’s really quite yummy, but I can see from my mum’s expression that she’s having a fit.”

Four tables away, Eleanor was turning as red as the coral-beaded bolero jacket she wore over her intricately pleated Fortuny silk gown, but it had nothing to do with the soup. She had been in shock ever since she spotted Rachel on the promenade wearing the Grand Duchess Zoya sapphire necklace. Could her disapproving mother-in-law really have loaned the necklace to Rachel? Or, even more unthinkable, had she given Rachel the necklace? What sort of black magic was Rachel doing at Tyersall Park?

“Are you going to drink your soup or not?” Philip asked, interrupting her thoughts. “If you’re not going to have it, hand over the bowl before it gets cold.”

“I’ve lost my appetite tonight. Here, swap seats with me — I need to talk to your sister for a minute.” Eleanor took her husband’s seat and smiled prettily at Victoria, who was huddled in conversation with her cousin Dickie.

“Wah, Victoria, you should really wear jewelry more often — you look so pretty in these cognac diamonds.”

Victoria wanted to roll her eyes. Eleanor had never once in three decades given her a compliment, but now, when she had this heap of vulgar stones on her chest, Eleanor was suddenly gushing. She was like all her other Sung sisters, so vain and materialistic. “Yes, isn’t it fun? Mummy gave them to me. She was in a good mood today after the wedding and was doling out heaps of jewels to everyone.”

“How nice for you,” Eleanor said breezily. “And isn’t that Mummy’s sapphire necklace on Rachel Chu’s neck?”

“Yes, doesn’t it look marvelous on her? Mummy thought so too,” Victoria said with a smile. She knew perfectly well that Fiona had been given the necklace and had loaned it to Rachel (after that delicious scene on the stairs with Eddie that Ling Cheh had breathlessly reenacted for her), but she chose not to share that detail with Eleanor. Far more amusing to see Eleanor get worked up over nothing.

“Alamak, aren’t you the least bit concerned about Rachel?” Eleanor queried.

“Concerned about what?” Victoria asked, knowing full well what Eleanor meant.

“Well, her dubious family background, for starters.”

“Oh, come on, Eleanor. You need to stop being so old-fashioned. Nobody cares about that kind of stuff anymore. Rachel is so well educated and down-to-earth. And she speaks perfect Mandarin.” She took care to mention all the things Eleanor was not.

“I didn’t know she spoke perfect Mandarin,” Eleanor said, getting more worried by the minute.

“Yes, she’s very accomplished. Why, I had the most fascinating conversation with her this morning about the importance of micro-lending in sub-Saharan Africa. You should feel lucky that Nicky has a girlfriend like her, and not someone like that spendthrift Araminta Lee. Can you imagine what the Khoos must be thinking right now, sitting here in the middle of this mosquito-infested jungle eating this absurd food? I’m so bloody sick of this Chinese fusion trend. I mean, it says on this menu card that this is Caramelized Peking Duck y Chocolat Molé, but it looks like peanut brittle. Where’s the duck, I ask you? Where’s the damn duck?”

“Will you excuse me a moment?” Eleanor said, getting up from the table abruptly.

Francesca was just about to take a pensive first bite into her Hawaiian Suckling Pig Truffle Tacos when Eleanor interrupted her. “Will you please come with me at once?”

Eleanor walked her into one of the cavern-like lounges surrounding the main banquet hall. She sank into a white mohair ottoman and inhaled deeply, as Francesca bent over her in concern, the ruffles on her flame-orange ball gown billowing around her like frothy waves. “Are you okay, Auntie Elle? You look like you’re having a panic attack.”

“I think I am. I need my Xanax. Can you get me some water? And please blow out all those candles. The smell is giving me a migraine.”

Francesca quickly returned with a glass of water. Eleanor downed a few pills quickly and sighed. “It’s worse than I thought. Far worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you see that sapphire necklace on that girl?”

“How could I miss it? Yesterday she was wearing Ann Taylor Loft and today she’s in an Elie Saab gown from next season and those sapphires.”

“It’s my mother-in-law’s. It used to belong to the Grand Duchess Zoya of St. Petersburg, and now it’s been given to that girl. What’s more, the whole family seems to have fallen in love with her, even my bitchy sister-in-law,” Eleanor said, almost choking on the words.

Francesca looked grave. “Don’t worry, Auntie Elle. I promised you I would see to it, and after tonight, Rachel Chu will wish she had never set foot on this island!”

After the sixth and final course had been served, the lights in the great hall dimmed, and a voice boomed out, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our very special guest!” The live band struck up a tune, and the wall of glass behind the stage began to part. The water in the lagoon started to glow an iridescent aquamarine before draining away completely, and from the middle of the lagoon, the figure of a woman rose up as if by magic. As she walked slowly toward the banquet hall, someone screamed, “Oh my goodness, it’s Tracy Kuan!” The usually grimfaced vice premier of China jumped out of his seat and began clapping like a man possessed, as everyone in the hall cheered and rose to a standing ovation.

“Who’s that?” Rachel asked, amazed by the huge surge of excitement.

“It’s Tracy Kuan — she’s like the Barbra Streisand of Asia. Oh my God, I can die now!” Oliver practically swooned, getting all choked up.

“Tracy Kuan is still alive?” Cassandra Shang turned in astonishment to Jacqueline Ling. “The woman must be at least a hundred and three by now, and she doesn’t look a day over forty! What on earth does she do to herself?”

“Whale vomit from New Zealand. Works miracles on your face,” Jacqueline shot back in dead seriousness.

Tracy Kuan sang Dolly Parton’s classic “I Will Always Love You,” with alternating verses in English and Mandarin, as the lagoon outside began to shoot elaborate fountain jets of water into the sky, synchronized to the music. Colin led Araminta onto the dance floor, and the crowd oohed and aahed as they danced to the ballad. When the song was over, all of the surfaces along the stage suddenly transformed into giant LED panels, projecting rapid stop-motion video sequences as Tracy Kuan launched into her classic dance hit “People Like Us.” The crowd roared in approval and rushed onto the dance floor.

Oliver grabbed Cecilia Cheng by the arm and said, “You are under orders from your grandmother to help me. I’m going to cut in on Alistair and Kitty, and you need to keep your baby brother distracted. All I need is one song alone with Kitty.”

Kitty and Alistair were grinding against each other feverishly when Oliver and Cecilia cut in, Alistair giving up Kitty reluctantly. How was he supposed to dirty dance with his own sister? “You’ve got the best moves on the dance floor!” Oliver yelled into Kitty’s ear, as Cecilia steered Alistair closer to the stage.

“I danced backup for Aaron Kwok. That’s how I got my start in the industry,” Kitty yelled back to Oliver as she continued to shimmy wildly.

“I know! I recognized you the minute I saw you the other day. You were wearing a short platinum blond wig in Aaron Kwok’s music video,” Oliver replied, expertly herding her toward a strategic point on the dance floor without her realizing it.

“Wow! You have a good memory,” Kitty said, feeling flattered.

“I also remember you from your other video.”

“Oh, which one?”

“The all-girl back-door-action one,” Oliver said with a little wink.

Kitty didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’ve heard about that video. That girl supposedly looks a lot like me,” she shouted back at Oliver with a smirk.

“Yes, yes, she’s your identical twin. Don’t worry, Kitty, your secret is safe with me. I’m a survivor, just like you. And I know you didn’t work your pretty ass off, quite literally I might add, to end up married to an upper-middle-class boy like my cousin.”

“You’re wrong about me. I love Alistair!” Kitty protested.

“Of course you do. I never said you didn’t,” Oliver replied, spinning her right next to Bernard Tai, who was dancing with Lauren Lee.

“Lauren Lee! My goodness, I haven’t seen you since last year’s Hong Kong art fair. Where have you been hiding yourself?” Oliver exclaimed as he switched partners with Bernard.

As Bernard began to ogle Kitty’s skimpily swathed décolletage, Oliver whispered into Kitty’s ear, “Bernard’s father, Dato’ Tai Toh Lui, has about four billion dollars. And he’s the only son.”

Kitty continued to dance as if she hadn’t heard a single word.

Seeking respite from the ear-splitting music, Astrid headed outdoors and climbed onto one of the terraces overlooking a canopy of treetops. Charlie noticed her leaving the banquet hall, and it took every ounce of determination for him not to follow her. He was better off admiring her from afar, in the way that he always had. Even when they were living together in London, he loved nothing more than to watch her quietly as she drifted through a room in her inimitable way. Astrid had always stood apart from any woman he had ever known. Especially tonight, when the most stylish women in all of Asia were dressed to impress and drowning in diamonds, Astrid outdid all of them by appearing in a flawlessly elegant cheongsam and an exquisitely simple pair of chalcedony drop earrings. He knew from the tailoring and intricately embroidered peacock feathers that the cheongsam had to be vintage, likely one of her grandmother’s. What the hell, he didn’t care how she might feel — he needed to see her again up close.

“Let me guess … not a fan of Tracy Kuan?” Astrid asked when she saw Charlie walking up the steps onto the terrace.

“Not when I have no one to dance with.”

Astrid smiled. “I’d happily dance with you, but you know the press would have a field day with that one.”

“Heh, heh — we’d wipe this wedding off the front pages tomorrow, wouldn’t we?” Charlie laughed.

“Tell me, Charlie, back in our day, were we anything like Colin and Araminta?” Astrid sighed, peering down at the fantastical harbor, its row of Grecian columns like leftover props from the set of Cleopatra.

“I’d like to think we weren’t. I mean, kids these days … the spending is on a whole other level.”

“ ‘Spending Ah Gong’s[88] money,’ as they say,” Astrid quipped.

“Yes. But at least we had the sense to feel naughty doing it. And I think that back in those days when we lived in London, we were buying things we actually loved, not things to show off,” Charlie mused.

“No one in Singapore gave a damn about Martin Margiela back then.” Astrid laughed.

“It’s a whole new world, Astrid.” Charlie sighed.

“Well, I hope Colin and Araminta live happily ever after,” Astrid said wistfully.

They were silent for a minute, taking in the calm of the rustling trees mingling with the low bass thump coming from the great hall. Suddenly the relative quiet was broken, as Asia’s bright young things flooded out onto the plaza in a raucous conga line led by the indefatigable Tracy Kuan doing her best rendition of the B-52s’ “Love Shack.”

“I can’t lie to you, Astrid. My wife was invited tonight, but she’s not here because we lead separate lives. We haven’t lived together in more than two years,” Charlie said over the din, slumping onto one of the Lucite benches.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Astrid said, jarred by his candor. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my husband isn’t really away on business. He’s in Hong Kong with his mistress,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Charlie stared at her, incredulous. “Mistress? How could anyone in his right mind be cheating on you?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself all night. All week actually. I had been suspecting it for the past few months, but he finally came clean a week ago, before abruptly moving out.”

“He moved to Hong Kong?”

“No, I don’t think so. Actually, what am I talking about — I have no idea. I think his mistress lives there, and I think he went specifically this weekend just to spite me. It was the one weekend where his absence would surely be noticed.”

“Fucker!”

“That’s not all. I think he fathered a child with this woman,” Astrid said sadly.

Charlie looked at her in horror. “You think? Or you know?”

“I don’t really know, Charlie. There are so many things about this whole affair that don’t make sense to me at all.”

“Then why don’t you go to Hong Kong yourself and find out?”

“How can I? There’s no way I can run off to Hong Kong on my own to check up on him. You know how it is — no matter where I stay, someone is bound to recognize me, and there will be talk,” Astrid said, rather resigned to her fate.

“Well, why don’t we find out?”

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

“I mean, I’m going to call my pilot right now to get the plane fueled up, and we can be in Hong Kong in three hours. Let me help you. You can stay with me, and no one will know you’re in Hong Kong. It’s unfortunate, but after my brother’s kidnapping eight years ago, I have access to the best private investigators in the city. Let’s get to the bottom of this,” Charlie said eagerly.

“Oh Charlie, I can’t just leave in the middle of all this.”

“Why the hell not? I don’t see you out there shaking your ass in that conga line.”

Colin and Nick were standing by one of the alcoves, watching Peter Lee spin his daughter around the dance floor. “I can’t quite believe I got married to that girl today, Nicky. This whole day has been a complete fucking blur.” Colin sighed wearily.

“Yeah, it’s been quite surreal,” Nick admitted.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve been with me on this ride,” Colin said. “I know I haven’t been easy on you the last few days.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” Nick said cheerily, putting his arm around Colin. He was not about to let Colin get maudlin on his wedding night.

“I’m going to do you the favor of not asking you when your turn’s going to be, although I must say Rachel looks smashing tonight,” Colin said, staring at her being whirled around by Mehmet.

“Doesn’t she?” Nick grinned.

“I’d cut in on them if I were you. You know how lethal our Turkish friend can be, especially since he knows how to tango better than an Argentinean polo player,” Colin warned.

“Oh, Mehmet already confessed to me that he thinks Rachel has the sexiest legs on the planet.” Nick laughed. “You know how they say weddings are infectious. I think I really caught the bug today, watching you and Araminta during the ceremony.”

“Does this mean what I think it does?” Colin asked, perking up.

“I think so, Colin. I think I’m finally ready to ask Rachel to marry me.”

“Well hurry up, lah!” Colin exclaimed, clapping Nick on the back. “Araminta already told me she intends to get pregnant on our honeymoon, so you need to catch up. I’m counting on your kid to check my kid into rehab!”

It was almost midnight, and while the older guests were perched comfortably on terraces overlooking the promenade, sipping their Rémy Martins or lapsang souchongs, Rachel was sitting with the few remaining girls in the banquet hall, catching up with Sophie Khoo. Lauren Lee and Mandy Ling were chatting several chairs away when Francesca sauntered up to the table.

“Wasn’t that dinner a disappointment? That Edible Bird’s Nest Semifreddo at the end — why would you ever puree bird’s nest? Bird’s nest is all about the texture, and that idiot chef transforms it into a half-frozen muck,” Francesca complained. “We should all go for supper after the fireworks.”

“Why don’t we just go now?” Lauren suggested.

“No, we have to stay for the fireworks! Araminta told me in secret that Cai Guo-Qiang designed a pyrotechnics show even more spectacular than the one he did for the Beijing Olympics. But we’ll take the first ferry the minute the show is over. Now, where should we go?”

“I don’t know Singapore well at all anymore. If I was in Sydney right now, I’d be heading to BBQ King for a late-night snack,” Sophie said.

“Oooh! BBQ King! I love that place! I think they have the best siew ngarp in the world!” Lauren declared.

“Aiyah, BBQ King is such a grease pit. Everyone knows that Four Seasons in London has the best roast duck in the world!” Mandy countered.

“I’m with Lauren, I think BBQ wins hands down,” Francesca said.

“No, I find their roast duck too fatty. The duck at Four Seasons is perfect, because they raise the ducks on their own special organic farm. Nico would agree with me — we used to go there all the time,” Mandy added with a flourish.

“Why do you call Nick ‘Nico’?” Rachel turned to Mandy, the curiosity finally getting the better of her.

“Oh, when we were just teenagers, we spent one summer together on Capri. His auntie Catherine, the Thai one, took a villa there. We would follow the sun all day — start out sunbathing at the beach club by the Faraglioni rocks in the mornings, go swimming in Grotta Verde after lunch, and end up at Il Faro beach for sunset. We got so brown, and Nicky’s hair got so long — he looked practically Italian! That’s when the Italian kids we made friends with started calling him Nico and I was his Mandi. Oooh, it was such a glorious time.”

“Sounds like it,” Rachel said lightly, ignoring Mandy’s blatant attempt to make her jealous by resuming her conversation with Sophie.

Francesca leaned into Mandy’s ear. “Really, Mandy, I could have milked that story way better. Your mother is right — you have lost your edge living in New York.”

“Go to hell, Francesca. I don’t see you doing any better,” Mandy said through gritted teeth as she got up from the table. She was fed up with the pressure coming at her from all sides, and wished she’d never agreed to come back. The girls looked up as Mandy stormed off.

Francesca shook her head slowly and gave Rachel a look. “Poor Mandy is so conflicted. She doesn’t know what she wants anymore. I mean, that was such a pathetic attempt at inciting jealousy, wasn’t it?”

For once, Rachel had to agree with Francesca. “It didn’t work, and I don’t understand why she keeps trying to make me jealous. I mean, why would I care about what Nick and her did when they were teenagers?”

Francesca burst out laughing. “Wait a minute, you thought she was trying to make you jealous?”

“Er … wasn’t that what she was doing?”

“No, honey, she’s not paying any attention to you. She was trying to make me jealous.”

“You?” Rachel asked, puzzled.

Francesca smirked. “Of course. That’s why she brought up the whole Capri story — I was there that summer too, you know. Mandy’s never gotten over how into me Nick was when we had our threesome.”

Rachel could feel her face get hot. Very hot. She wanted to bolt from the table but her legs seemed to have turned to glue.

Sophie and Lauren stared at Francesca, mouths agape.

Francesca looked straight into Rachel’s face and kept on chattering lightly. “Oh, does Nick still do that trick with the underside of his tongue? Mandy was far too prissy to let him go down on her, but my God, on me he would stay down there for hours.”

Right then, Nick entered the banquet hall. “There you are! Why are you all sitting in here like statues? The fireworks are about to start!”

9 99 Conduit Road

HONG KONG

The elderly amah opened the door and broke out into a wide grin. “Hiyah, Astrid Leong! Can it be?” she cried in Cantonese.

“Yes, Ah Chee — Astrid will be our guest for a few days. Will you please make sure no one knows? And don’t go telling any of the other maids who she is — I don’t want them carrying tales to my mother’s maids. This needs to remain absolutely secret, okay?” Charlie decreed.

“Yes, yes, of course, Charlieboy — now go and wash your hands,” Ah Chee said dismissively, continuing to fuss over Astrid. “Hiyah, you are still so beautiful, I have dreamed about you often over the years! You must be so tired, so hungry — it’s past three in the morning. Let me go and wake the cook up to make you something to eat. Some chicken congee maybe?”

“No need, Ah Chee. We came from a wedding banquet.” Astrid smiled. She could hardly believe that Charlie’s childhood nanny was still looking after him after all these years.

“Well, let me go make you some warm milk and honey. Or would you rather have Milo? Charlieboy always likes that when he’s up late,” Ah Chee said, rushing off to the kitchen.

“There’s no stopping Ah Chee, is there?” Astrid laughed. “I’m so glad you still have her.”

“She won’t leave!” Charlie sputtered in exasperation. “I built her a house back in China — hell, I built all her relatives houses, got a satellite dish for the village, the whole nine yards, thinking she would want to return to China to retire. But I think she’s much happier here bossing all the other maids around.”

“It’s very sweet of you to take care of her like that,” Astrid said. They stepped into an expansive double-height living room that resembled the wing of a modern art museum, with its row of bronze sculptures placed like sentinels in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Since when did you collect Brancusi?” she asked in surprise.

“Since you introduced me to him. Don’t you remember that exhibition you dragged me to at the Pompidou?”

“Gosh, I’d almost forgotten,” Astrid said, gazing at the minimalist curves of one of Brancusi’s golden birds.

“My wife, Isabel, is mad for the French Provençal look, so she hates my Brancusis. They haven’t had an airing until I moved in here. I’ve turned this apartment into a sort of refuge for my art. Isabel and the girls stay at our house on the Peak, and I’m here in the Mid-Levels. I like it because I can just walk out my door, take the escalator down to Central, and be at my office within ten minutes. Sorry it’s a bit cramped — it’s just a small duplex.”

“It’s gorgeous, Charlie, and much larger than my flat.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. I’m in a three-bedroom off Clemenceau Avenue. You know that eighties building across the street from the Istana?”

“What on earth are you doing living in that old teardown?”

“It’s a long story. Basically, Michael didn’t want to feel beholden to my dad. So I agreed to live in a place he could afford.”

“I suppose that’s admirable, although I just can’t imagine how he could make you squeeze into a pigeonhole for the sake of his pride,” Charlie huffed.

“Oh, I’m quite used to it. And the location is very convenient, just like here,” Astrid said.

Charlie couldn’t help but wonder what sort of life Astrid had made for herself since marrying this idiot. “Here, let me show you to your room,” Charlie said. They climbed the sleek brushed-metal staircase and he showed her into a large, spartanly furnished bedroom with topstitched beige suede walls and masculine gray flannel bedding. The only decorative object was a photograph of two young girls in a silver frame by the bedside. “Is this your bedroom?” she asked.

“Yes. Don’t worry, I’m going to sleep in my daughters’ room,” Charlie quickly added.

“Don’t be silly! I’ll take the girls’ room — I can’t make you give up your bedroom for me—” Astrid began.

“No, no, I insist. You’ll be much more comfortable here. Try to get some sleep,” Charlie said, closing the door gently before she could protest any more.

Astrid changed out of her clothes and lay down. She turned on her side and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows that perfectly framed the Hong Kong skyline. The buildings were densely packed in this part of the city, staggered steeply on the mountainside in sheer defiance of the terrain. She remembered how, when she had first visited Hong Kong as a young girl, her aunt Alix had explained that the city’s feng shui was particularly good, because wherever you lived, the dragon mountain was always behind you and the ocean was always in front of you. Even at this late hour, the city was a riot of lights, with many of the skyscrapers illuminated in a spectrum of colors. She tried to sleep, but she was still too wired from the past few hours — stealing away from the wedding just as the fireworks show was starting, rushing home to pack a few things, and now finding herself in the bedroom of Charlie Wu, the boy whose heart she had broken. The boy who, strangely enough, had awakened her to another way of life.

PARIS, 1995

Astrid leaped onto the king-size bed at the Hôtel George V, sinking into the plush feathertop mattress. “Ummmm … you need to lie down, Charlie. This is the most delicious bed I’ve ever slept on! Why don’t we have beds like these at the Calthorpe? We really ought to — the lumpy mattresses we have probably haven’t been changed since Elizabethan times.”

“Astrid, we can enjoy the bed later, lah. We only have three hours left until the shops close! Come on, lazybones, didn’t you sleep enough on the train?” Charlie cajoled. He couldn’t wait to show Astrid the city he had come to know like the back of his hand. His mother and sisters had discovered the world of high fashion in the decade since his father had taken his tech company public, transforming the Wus almost overnight from mere centi-millionaires to billionaires. In the early days, before they were in the habit of chartering planes, Dad would buy up the entire first-class cabin of Singapore Airlines, and the whole family would sweep through the capitals of Europe — staying in the grandest hotels, eating at the restaurants with the most Michelin stars, and indulging in limitless shopping. Charlie had grown up knowing his Buccellati from his Boucheron, and he was eager to show this world to Astrid. He knew that — for all her pedigree — Astrid had been brought up practically in a nunnery. The Leongs did not eat in expensive restaurants — they ate food prepared by their cooks at home. They did not favor dressing up in designer clothes, preferring to have everything made by their family tailor. Charlie felt that Astrid had been far too stifled — all her life she had been treated like a hothouse flower, when in fact she was a wildflower that was never allowed to bloom fully. Now that they were eighteen and living together in London, they were finally free of family confines, and he would dress her like the princess she was, and she would be his forever.

Charlie led Astrid straight to the Marais, a neighborhood he had discovered on his own after tiring of tagging along with his family to the same shops within a three-block radius of the George V. As they strolled down rue Vieille du Temple, Astrid let out a sigh. “Aiyah, it’s adorable here! So much cozier than those wide boulevards in the Eighth Arrondissement.”

“There is one shop in particular that I stumbled on the last time I was here … it was so cool. I can just picture you wearing everything this designer makes, this tiny Tunisian guy. Let’s see, which street was it on?” Charlie mumbled to himself. After a few more turns, they arrived at the boutique that Charlie wanted Astrid to see. The windows consisted of smoked glass, giving nothing away as to what treasures lay within.

“Why don’t you go in first and I’ll join you in a sec? I want to stop in at the pharmacy across the street to see if they have any camera batteries,” Charlie suggested.

Astrid stepped through the door and found herself transported into a parallel universe. Portuguese fado music wailed through a space with black ceilings, obsidian walls, and poured-concrete floors stained a dark espresso. Minimalist industrial hooks protruded from the walls, and the clothes were artfully draped like pieces of sculpture and lit with halogen spotlights. A saleswoman with a wild, frizzy mane of red hair glanced briefly from behind an oval glass desk with elephant tusk legs before continuing to puff on her cigarette and page through an oversize magazine. After a few minutes, when it seemed like Astrid wasn’t leaving, she asked haughtily, “Can I help you?”

“Oh, no, I’m just looking around. Thank you,” Astrid replied in her schoolgirl French. She continued to circle the space and noticed a wide set of steps leading downstairs.

“Is there more downstairs?” she asked.

“Of course,” the saleslady said in her raspy voice, getting up from her desk reluctantly and following Astrid down the stairs. Below was a space lined with glossy coral-red armoires where, once again, only one or two pieces were artfully displayed. Astrid saw a beautiful cocktail dress with a silvery chain-mail back and searched the garment for a tag indicating its size. “What size is this?” she asked the woman standing watch like a pensive hawk.

“It’s couture. Do you understand? Everything made to order,” the woman replied drolly, waving her cigarette hand around and flicking ash everywhere.

“So, how much would it cost for me to have this made in my size?” Astrid asked.

The saleswoman made a quick assessment of Astrid. Asians hardly ever set foot in here — they usually kept to the famous designer boutiques on the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré or the avenue Montaigne, where they could inhale all the Chanel and Dior they wanted, God help them. Monsieur’s collection was very avant-garde, and only appreciated by the chicest Parisiennes, New Yorkers, and a few Belgians. Clearly this schoolgirl in the rollneck fisherman’s sweater, khakis, and espadrilles was out of her league. “Listen, chérie, everything here is très, très cher. And it takes five months for delivery. Do you really want to know how much it costs?” she said, taking a slow drag from her cigarette.

“Oh, I suppose not,” Astrid said meekly. This lady obviously had no interest in helping her. She climbed the stairs and headed straight out the door, almost bumping into Charlie.

“So quick? Didn’t you like the clothes?” Charlie queried.

“I do. But the lady in there doesn’t seem to want to sell me anything, so let’s not waste our time,” Astrid said.

“Wait, wait a minute — what do you mean she doesn’t want to sell you anything?” Charlie tried to clarify. “Was she being snooty?”

“Uh-huh,” Astrid reported.

“We’re going back in!” Charlie said indignantly.

“Charlie, let’s just go to the next boutique on your list.”

“Astrid, sometimes I can’t believe you’re Harry Leong’s daughter! Your father bought the most exclusive hotel in London when the manager was rude to your mother, for chrissakes! You need to learn how to stand up for yourself!”

“I know perfectly well how to stand up for myself, but it’s simply not worth making a fuss over nothing,” Astrid argued.

“Well, it’s not nothing to me. Nobody insults my girlfriend!” Charlie declared, flinging the door wide open with gusto. Astrid followed reluctantly, noticing that the redheaded saleslady was now joined by a man with platinum blond hair.

Charlie marched up and asked the man, in English, “Do you work here?”

“Oui,” the man replied.

“This is my girlfriend. I want to buy a whole new wardrobe for her. Will you help me?”

The man crossed his arms lazily, slightly bemused by this scrawny teenager with a bad case of acne. “This is all haute couture, and the dresses start at twenty-five thousand francs. There is also an eight-month wait,” he said.

“Not a problem,” Charlie said boldly.

“Um, you pay cash? How are you going to guarantee payment?” the lady asked in thickly accented English.

Charlie sighed and whipped out his cell phone. He dialed a long series of numbers and waited for the other end to pick up. “Mr. Oei? It’s Charlie Wu here. Sorry to disturb you at this time of night in Singapore. I’m in Paris at the moment. Tell me, Mr. Oei, does our bank have a relationship manager in Paris? Great. Will you call the fellow up and get him to make a call to this shop that I am at.” Charlie looked up and asked them for the name, before continuing. “Tell him to inform these people that I am here with Astrid Leong. Yes, Harry’s daughter. Yes, and will you be sure your fellow lets them know I can afford to buy anything I damn well please? Thank you.”

Astrid watched her boyfriend in silence. She had never seen him behave in such an assertive manner. Part of her felt like cringing from the vulgarity of his swagger, and part of her found it to be remarkably attractive. A few long minutes passed, and finally the phone rang. The redhead picked it up quickly, her eyes widening as she listened to the tirade coming from the other end. “Désolée, monsieur, très désolée,” she kept saying into the phone. She hung up and began a terse exchange with her male colleague, not realizing that Astrid could understand almost every word they were saying. The man leaped off the table and gazed at Charlie and Astrid with a sudden vigor. “Please, mademoiselle, let me show you the full collection,” he said with a big smile.

The woman, meanwhile, smiled at Charlie. “Monsieur, would you like some champagne? Or a cappuccino, maybe?”

“I wonder what my banker told them,” Charlie whispered to Astrid as they were led downstairs into a cavernous dressing room.

“Oh, that wasn’t the banker. It was the designer himself. He told them he was rushing over to personally supervise my fittings. Your banker must have called him directly,” Astrid said.

“Okay, I want you to order ten dresses from this designer. We need to spend at least a few hundred thousand francs right now.”

“Ten? I don’t think I even want ten things from this place,” Astrid said.

“Doesn’t matter. You need to pick out ten things. Actually, make that twenty. As my father always says, the only way to get these ang mor gau sai to respect you is to smack them in the face with your dua lan chiao[89] money until they get on their knees.”

For the next seven days, Charlie led Astrid on a shopping spree to end all shopping sprees. He bought her a suite of luggage from Hermès, dozens of dresses from all the top designers that season, sixteen pairs of shoes and four pairs of boots, a diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch (that she never once wore), and a restored art nouveau lamp from Didier Aaron. In between the marathon shopping, there were lunches at Mariage Frères and Davé, dinners at Le Grand Véfour and Les Ambassadeurs, and dancing the night away in their new finery at Le Palace and Le Queen. That week in Paris, Astrid not only discovered her taste for haute couture; she discovered a new passion. She had lived the first eighteen years of her life surrounded by people who had money but claimed not to, people who preferred to hand things down rather than buy them new, people who simply didn’t know how to enjoy their good fortune. Spending money the Charlie Wu way was absolutely exhilarating — honestly, it was better than sex.

10 Tyersall Park

SINGAPORE, 3:30 A.M.

Rachel was quiet all the way home from the wedding ball. She graciously returned the sapphire necklace to Fiona in the foyer and bounded up the stairs. In the bedroom, she grabbed her suitcase from the built-in cupboard and began shoving in her clothes as fast as she could. She noticed that the laundry maids had placed thin sheets of scented blotting paper between each folded piece of clothing, and she began tearing them out frustratedly — she didn’t want to take a single thing from this place.

“What are you doing?” Nick said in bafflement as he entered the bedroom.

“What does it look like? I’m getting out of here!”

“What? Why?” Nick frowned.

“I’ve had enough of this shit! I refuse to be a sitting duck for all these crazy women in your life!”

“What on earth are you talking about, Rachel?” Nick stared at her in confusion. He had never seen her this angry before.

“I’m talking about Mandy and Francesca. And God only knows who else,” Rachel cried, continuing to grab her things from the armoire.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Rachel, but—”

“Oh, so you deny it? You deny that you had a threesome with them?”

Nick’s eyes flared in shock. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say. “I don’t deny it, but—”

“You asshole!”

Nick threw his hands up in despair. “Rachel, I’m thirty-two, and as far as I know I’ve never mentioned joining the priesthood. I do have a sexual history, but I’ve never tried to conceal any of it from you.”

“It’s not that you concealed it. It’s more that you never told me in the first place! You should have said something. You should have told me that Francesca and you had a past, so I didn’t have to sit there tonight and get totally blindsided. I felt like a total fucking idiot.”

Nick sat down on the edge of the chaise lounge, burying his face in his hands. Rachel had every right to be angry — it just never occurred to him to mention something that happened half a lifetime ago. “I’m so sorry—” he began.

“A threesome? With Mandy and Francesca? Really? Of all the women in the world,” Rachel said contemptuously as she struggled with the zipper on her suitcase.

Nick sighed deeply. He wanted to explain that Francesca had been a very different girl back then, before her grandfather’s stroke and all that money, but he realized that this was not the time to defend her. He approached Rachel slowly and put his arms around her. She tried to break away from him, but he locked his arms around her tightly.

“Look at me, Rachel. Look at me,” he said calmly. “Francesca and I just had a brief fling that summer in Capri. That’s all it was. We were stupid sixteen-year-olds, all raging hormones. That was almost two decades ago. I was single for four years before I met you, and I think you know precisely how the last two years have gone — you are the center of my life, Rachel. The absolute center. What happened tonight? Who told you all these things?”

With that, Rachel broke down and it all came flooding out — everything that happened at Araminta’s bachelorette weekend, all of Mandy’s constant innuendoes, the stunt that Francesca had pulled at the wedding ball. Nick listened to Rachel’s ordeal, feeling sick to his stomach the more he heard. Here he thought she had been having the time of her life. It pained him to see how shaken up she was, to see the tears spill down her pretty face.

“Rachel, I am so sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am,” Nick said earnestly.

Rachel stood facing the window, wiping the tears from her eyes. She was angry at herself for crying and confused by the tidal wave of emotion that had swept over her, but she just couldn’t help it. The shock of the evening and the pent-up stress of the days leading up to it had brought her to this point, and now she was drained.

“I wish you had told me about the bachelorette weekend, Rachel. If I had known, I could have done more to protect you. I really had no clue those girls could be so … so vicious,” Nick said, searching for the right word in his fury. “I’ll make sure you never see them again. Just please, don’t leave like this. Especially when we haven’t even had a chance to enjoy our holiday together. Let me make it up to you, Rachel. Please.”

Rachel kept silent. She stayed facing the window, suddenly noticing a strange set of shadows moving on the darkened expanse of lawn. A moment later, she realized it was just a uniformed Gurkha on his night patrol with a pair of Dobermans.

“I don’t think you get it, Nick. I’m still mad at you. You didn’t prepare me for any of this. I traveled halfway around the world with you, and you told me nothing before we left.”

“What should I have told you?” Nick asked, genuinely perplexed.

“All this,” Rachel cried, waving her hands around at the opulent bedroom they were standing in. “The fact that there’s an army of Gurkhas with dogs protecting your grandmother while she sleeps, the fact that you grew up in friggin’ Downton Abbey, the fact that your best friend was throwing the most expensive wedding in the history of civilization! You should have told me about your family, about your friends, about your life here, so I could at least know what I was getting myself into.”

Nick sank onto the chaise lounge, sighing wearily. “Astrid did try to warn me to prepare you, but I was so sure that you’d feel right at home when you got here. I mean, I’ve seen how you are in different settings, the way you’re able to charm the socks off everyone — your students, the chancellor, and all the university bigwigs, even that grouchy Japanese sandwich guy on Thirteenth Street! And I guess I just didn’t know what to say. How could I have explained all this to you without your being here to see it yourself?”

“Well, I came and saw for myself, and now … now I feel like I don’t know who my boyfriend is anymore,” Rachel said forlornly.

Nick stared at Rachel openmouthed, stung by her remark. “Have I really changed that much in the past couple of weeks? Because I feel like I’m the same person, and how I feel about you certainly hasn’t changed. If anything, I love you more every day, and even more at this moment.”

“Oh Nick.” Rachel sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s true, you have stayed exactly the same, but the world around you — this world around us — is so different from anything I’m used to. And I’m trying to figure out how I could possibly fit into this world.”

“But don’t you see how well you do fit in? You must realize that aside from a few inconsequential girls, everyone adores you. My best friends all think you’re the bee’s knees — you should have heard the way Colin and Mehmet were raving about you last night. And my parents like you, my whole family likes you.”

Rachel shot him a look, and Nick could see that she wasn’t buying it. He sat down next to her and noticed that her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. He longed to run a hand up and down her back soothingly, like he did almost every night in bed, but he knew better than to touch her now. What could he do to reassure her at this moment?

“Rachel, I never meant for you to get hurt. You know I’ll do anything to make you happy,” he said in a quiet voice.

“I know,” Rachel said after a pause. As upset as she was, she couldn’t stay mad at Nick for long. He had mishandled things, for sure, but she knew he wasn’t to blame for Francesca’s bitchiness. This was exactly what Francesca had been hoping to achieve — to make her doubt herself, to make her angry at Nick. Rachel sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder.

A sudden gleam came over Nick’s eyes. “I have an idea — why don’t we go away tomorrow? Let’s skip the tea ceremony at the Khoos’. I don’t think you really want to stand around and watch Araminta get piled with tons of jewelry from all her relatives anyway. Let’s get out of Singapore and clear our heads. I know a special place we can go.”

Rachel eyed him warily. “Is it going to involve more private jets and six-star resorts?”

Nick shook his head rapidly. “Don’t worry, we’re driving. I’m taking you to Malaysia. I’m taking you to a remote lodge in the Cameron Highlands, far away from all this.”

11 Residences at One Cairnhill

SINGAPORE

Eleanor was just sitting down to her usual breakfast of toasted seven-grain bread, low-fat butter, and low-sugar marmalade when the phone rang. Whenever the phone rang this early in the morning, she knew it had to be one of her siblings in America. This was probably her brother in Seattle, begging for another loan. When Consuelo entered the breakfast room with the phone, Eleanor shook her head and mouthed silently, “Tell him I’m still asleep.”

“No, no, ma’am, not Seattle brother. It’s Mrs. Foo.”

“Oh,” Eleanor said, grabbing the phone as she took a bite of her toast. “Daisy, what are you doing up so early? Did you have indigestion too after that awful wedding banquet?”

“No, no, Elle, I have breaking news!” Daisy said excitedly.

“What, what?” Eleanor asked in anticipation. She said a quick prayer and hoped Daisy was going to report on the tragic breakup of Nicky and Rachel. Francesca had winked at her during the fireworks last night and whispered two words—It’s done—and Eleanor noticed during the ferry ride home that Rachel looked like she had been hit in the face with a durian.

“Guess who just woke up from a coma?” Daisy announced.

“Oh. Who?” Eleanor asked, a little crestfallen.

“Just guess, lah!”

“I don’t know … that von Bülow woman?”

“Aiyah, no lah! Sir Ronald Shaw woke up! Nadine’s father-in-law!”

“Alamak!” Eleanor almost spat out her toast. “I thought he was a living vegetable.”

“Well, somehow the vegetable woke up, and he’s even talking! The cousin of my maid’s daughter-in-law is the night nurse at Mount E, and apparently she got the shock of her life when Patient Shaw woke up at four this morning and started demanding his Kopi-O.”[90]

“How long has he been in a coma?” Eleanor asked, looking up and noticing Nick stroll into the kitchen. Oh my. Nick was over bright and early. Something must have happened!

“Six years now. Nadine, Ronnie, Francesca, the whole family have rushed to his bedside, and the news crews are just arriving.”

“Huh. Do you think we should go down too?” Eleanor asked.

“I think let’s wait. Let’s see. You know, I hear that sometimes these coma victims wake up right before they die.”

“If he’s asking for Kopi-O, something tells me he’s not going to kick the bucket anytime soon,” Eleanor surmised. She said goodbye to Daisy and focused her attention on Nick.

“Francesca’s grandfather woke up from his coma this morning,” Eleanor relayed, buttering another piece of toast.

“I didn’t even realize he was still alive,” Nick said disinterestedly.

“What are you doing here so early? Do you want some breakfast? Some kaya toast?”

“No, no, I already ate.”

“Where’s Rachel this morning?” Eleanor asked a little too eagerly. Was the girl tossed out in the middle of the night like garbage?

“Rachel’s still asleep. I got up early to talk to you and Dad. Is he up yet?”

“Alamak, your father sleeps till ten, at the earliest.”

“Well then, I’ll tell you first. I’m going away with Rachel for a few days, and if all goes according to plan, I intend to propose to her while we’re away,” Nick declared.

Eleanor put down her toast and gave him a look of unconcealed horror. “Nicky, you can’t be serious!”

“I’m totally serious,” Nick said, taking a seat at the table. “I know you don’t know her very well yet, but that’s been my fault entirely — I haven’t given you or Dad the chance to meet her until now. But I can assure you that you’ll soon discover what an amazing human being she is. She is going to be a fantastic daughter-in-law to you, Mum.”

“Why are you rushing into this?”

“I’m not rushing into anything. We’ve dated for nearly two years. We’ve practically been living together for the past year. I was planning to propose on our two-year anniversary this October, but some stuff happened, and I need to show Rachel how important she is to me, right now.”

“What stuff?”

Nick sighed. “It’s a long story, but Rachel’s been treated badly by a few people since arriving — Francesca especially.”

“What did Francesca do?” Eleanor asked innocently.

“It doesn’t matter what she did. What matters is that I have to put things right.”

Eleanor’s mind raced in circles. What the hell happened last night? That stupid Francesca! Alamak, her plan must have backfired. “You don’t have to marry her just to put things right, Nicky. Don’t let this girl pressure you,” Eleanor urged.

“I’m not being pressured. The truth is, I have been thinking about marrying Rachel almost since the day I met her. And now, more than ever, I know she is the one for me. She is so smart, Mum, and such a good person.”

Eleanor was seething inside, but she tried to speak in a measured voice. “I’m sure Rachel is a nice girl, but she can never be your wife.”

“And why is that?” Nick leaned back in his chair, amused by the absurdity of his mother’s words.

“She is just not suitable for you, Nicky. She does not come from the right background.”

“Nobody is ever going to come from ‘the right background’ in your eyes,” Nick scoffed.

“I’m only telling you what everyone is already thinking, Nick. You haven’t heard the horrible things I’ve heard. Do you know her family comes from Mainland China?”

“Stop it, Mum. I’m so fed up with this ridiculous snobbery you and your friends have toward the Mainland Chinese. We are all Chinese. Just because some people actually work for their money doesn’t mean they are beneath you.”

Eleanor shook her head and continued in a graver tone, “Nicky, you don’t understand. She will never be accepted. And I’m not talking about your dad and me — I’m talking about your dear Ah Ma and the rest of the family. Take it from me — even though I have been married to your father for thirty-four years, I am still considered an outsider. I am a Sung — I came from a respectable family, a rich family, but in their eyes I was never good enough. Do you want to see Rachel suffer like that? Look at how they have frozen out that Kitty Pong girl!”

“How can you even compare Rachel to Kitty? Rachel isn’t a soap-opera star who runs around in skimpy clothes — she’s an economist with a PhD. And everyone in the family has been perfectly nice to her.”

“It is one thing to be polite to your guest, but I can assure you that if they really thought she had any chance of being your wife, they would not be so nice.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“No, Nicky, that is a fact,” Eleanor snapped. “Ah Ma will never allow you to marry Rachel, no matter how accomplished she is. Come on, Nicky, you know this! It’s been told to you a thousand times since you were a little boy. You are a Young.”

Nick shook his head and laughed. “This is all so unbelievably archaic. We’re living in the twenty-first century, and Singapore is one of the most progressive countries on the planet. I can assure you Ah Ma doesn’t feel the way she did thirty years ago.”

“Alamak, I’ve known your grandmother a lot longer than you have. You don’t know how important bloodlines are to her.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “To her, or to you? I haven’t researched Rachel’s genealogy, but if necessary I’m sure I can find some dead Ming emperor somewhere in her bloodline. Besides, she comes from a very respectable family. One of her cousins is even a famous film director.”

“Nicky, there are things about Rachel’s family that you don’t realize.”

“And how would you know this? Did Cassandra invent some story about Rachel’s family or something?”

Eleanor kept silent on that score. She simply warned, “Save yourself and Rachel the heartache, Nicky. You have to give her up now, before things go any further.”

“She’s not something I can just give up, Mum. I love her, and I’m going to marry her. I don’t need anyone’s approval,” Nick said forcefully, rising from the table.

“Stupid boy! Ah Ma will disinherit you!”

“Like I care.”

“Nicky, listen to me. I haven’t sacrificed my whole life for you just to see you waste everything on that girl,” Eleanor said anxiously.

“Sacrificed your whole life? I’m not sure what you mean, when you’re sitting here at the chef’s table of your twenty-million-dollar apartment,” Nick huffed.

“You have no idea! If you marry Rachel you will be ruining all our lives. Make her your mistress if you need to, but for heaven’s sake, don’t throw away your entire future by marrying her,” Eleanor pleaded.

Nick snorted in disgust and stood up, kicking away the chair behind him as he stormed out of the breakfast alcove. Eleanor winced as the chrome chair legs cut across the Calacatta marble floor. She stared at the perfectly aligned rows of Astier de Villatte porcelain that lined the exposed stainless-steel shelves of her kitchen, reflecting on the heated exchange she had just endured. Every effort she had made to prevent her son from careening into this disastrous situation had failed, and now there was but one option left. Eleanor sat absolutely still for a few long moments, summoning the courage for the conversation she had been trying to avoid for so long.

“Consuelo!” she shouted. “Tell Ahmad to get the car ready. I need to go to Tyersall Park in fifteen minutes.”

12 Wuthering Towers

HONG KONG

Astrid awoke to a shaft of sunlight on her face. What time was it? She looked at the clock on the side table and noticed it was after ten. She stretched into a yawn, crawled out of bed, and went to splash some water on her face. When she padded into the living room, she saw Charlie’s elderly Chinese nanny sitting on one of the chrome-and-calfskin Le Corbusier lounge chairs frantically focused on a game on her iPad. Ah Chee pressed the screen furiously, muttering in Cantonese, “Cursed birds!” When she noticed Astrid passing by, she broke into a toothy grin. “Hiyah Astrid, did you sleep well? There’s breakfast waiting for you,” she said, her eyes never leaving the glowing screen.

A young maid rushed up to Astrid and said, “Ma’am, please, breakfast,” gesturing toward the dining room. There she found a rather excessive spread laid out for her on the round glass table: pitchers of coffee, tea, and orange juice were accompanied by poached eggs and thick-cut bacon on a warming plate, scrambled eggs with Cumberland sausages, toasted English muffins, French toast, sliced mango with Greek yogurt, three types of breakfast cereals, silver-dollar pancakes with strawberries and Chantilly cream, fried crullers with fish congee. Another maid stood at attention behind Astrid, waiting to pounce forward and serve. Ah Chee came into the dining room and said, “We didn’t know what you would want for breakfast, so the cook made a few options. Eat, eat. And then the car is waiting to take you to Charlieboy’s office down the hill.”

Astrid grabbed the bowl of yogurt and said, “This is all I need,” much to Ah Chee’s dismay. She went back to the bedroom and put on an ink-blue Rick Owens top over a pair of white jeans. After brushing her hair quickly, she decided to wear it in a low ponytail — something she never did — and rummaging through Charlie’s bathroom drawers, she found a pair of Cutler and Gross horn sunglasses that fit her. This was as incognito as she was going to get. As she left the bedroom, one of the maids sprinted to the entrance foyer and summoned the elevator, while another held it open until Astrid was ready to enter. Astrid was mildly amused by how even an act as simple as exiting the flat was handled with such military urgency by these skittish girls. It was so different from the gracious, easygoing servants she had grown up with.

In the lobby, a chauffeur in a crisp black uniform with gold buttons bowed at Astrid. “Where’s Mr. Wu’s office?” Astrid asked.

“Wuthering Towers, on Chater Road.” He gestured toward the forest-green Bentley parked outside, but Astrid said, “Thanks, but I think I’ll walk,” remembering the building well. It was the same place Charlie always had to go to pick up envelopes stuffed with cash from his father’s secretary whenever they came to Hong Kong on weekend shopping binges. Before the chauffeur could protest, Astrid walked across the plaza to the Mid-Levels’ escalator, strolling purposefully along the moving platform as it snaked its way down the hilly urban terrain.

At the base of the escalator on Queen Street, Astrid took a deep breath and plunged into the fast-moving river of pedestrians. There was something about Hong Kong’s central district during the day, a special frenetic energy from the hustling and bustling crowd that always gave Astrid an intoxicating rush. Bankers in smart pinstripes walked shoulder to shoulder with dusty day laborers and teenagers in school uniforms, while chicly outfitted corporate women in don’t-mess-with-me heels melded seamlessly with wizened old amahs and half-clothed street beggars.

Astrid turned left onto Pedder Street and entered the Landmark shopping mall. The first thing she saw was a long line of people. What was happening? Oh, it was just the usual queue of Mainland Chinese shoppers outside the Gucci store, anxiously awaiting their turn to go inside and get their fix. Astrid expertly negotiated her way through the network of pedestrian bridges and passageways that connected the Landmark to neighboring buildings — up the escalator to the mezzanine level of the Mandarin Oriental, through the shopping arcade at Alexandra House, down the short flight of steps by Cova Caffé, and here she was in the gleaming lobby of Wuthering Towers.

The reception counter appeared to have been sculpted from one massive block of malachite, and as Astrid approached, a man with an earpiece in a dark suit intercepted her and said discreetly, “Mrs. Teo, I’m with Mr. Wu. Please come with me.” He waved her through the security checkpoint and into an express elevator that zipped straight up to the fifty-fifth floor. The elevator doors opened onto a serene, windowless room with alabaster-white walls inlaid with hairline circular patterns and a silvery blue sofa. The man ushered Astrid wordlessly past the three executive secretaries who sat at adjoining tables and through a pair of imposing etched-bronze doors.

Astrid found herself in Charlie’s atrium-like office, which had a soaring pyramid-shaped glass ceiling and a bank of flat-screen televisions along one entire wall that silently flickered financial news channels from New York, London, Shanghai, and Dubai. A very tan Chinese man in a black suit and wire-frame glasses was seated on a nearby sofa.

“You almost gave my driver a panic attack,” Charlie said, getting up from his desk.

Astrid smiled. “You need to cut your staff some slack, Charlie. They live in complete terror of you.”

“Actually, they live in complete terror of my wife,” Charlie responded with a grin. He gestured to the man seated on the black sofa. “This is Mr. Lui, who has already managed to find your husband by using the cell number you gave me last night.”

Mr. Lui nodded at Astrid and began speaking in that distinctive, clipped, British-accented English that was so common in Hong Kong. “Every iPhone has a GPS locator, which makes it possible for us to track the owner very easily,” Mr. Lui explained. “Your husband has been at an apartment in Mong Kok since last night.”

Mr. Lui presented Astrid with his thin laptop computer, where a sequence of images awaited: Michael exiting the flat, Michael exiting the elevator, Michael clutching a bundle of plastic bags on the street. The last picture, taken from a high angle, showed a woman opening the door of the flat to let Michael in. Astrid’s stomach tightened into a knot. Here was the other woman. She scrutinized the picture for a long while, staring at the barefooted woman dressed in denim shorts and a skimpy tank top.

“Can we enlarge the picture?” Astrid asked. As Mr. Lui zoomed in on the blurry, pixilated face, Astrid suddenly sat back on the sofa. “There’s something very familiar about that woman,” she said, her pulse quickening.

“Who is she?” Charlie asked.

“I’m not sure, but I know I’ve seen her somewhere before,” Astrid said, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her forehead. Then it hit her. Her throat seemed to close up, and she couldn’t speak.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked, seeing the look on Astrid’s face.

“I’m okay, I think. I believe this girl was at my wedding. I think there’s a picture of her in a group photo from one of my albums.”

“Your wedding?” Charlie said in shock. Turning to Mr. Lui, he demanded, “What do you have on her?”

“Nothing on her yet. The flat’s registered owner is Mr. Thomas Ng,” the private investigator replied.

“Doesn’t ring any bells,” Astrid said numbly.

“We’re still assembling a dossier,” Mr. Lui said. An instant message flashed on his phone, and he reported, “The woman just left the flat with a young boy, approximately four years old.”

Astrid’s heart sank. “Have you been able to find out anything about the boy?”

“We have not. We did not know there was a boy inside the flat with them until this moment.”

“So the woman has left with the boy and my husband is alone now?”

“Yes. We don’t think anyone else is in the apartment.”

“You don’t think? Can you be sure there isn’t someone else in there? Can’t you use some sort of thermal sensor?” Charlie asked.

Mr. Lui gave a little snort. “Hiyah, this isn’t the CIA. Of course, we can always escalate and bring in specialists if you wish, but for domestics such as these, we don’t usually—”

“I want to see my husband,” Astrid said matter-of-factly. “Can you take me to him now?”

“Ms. Teo, in these situations, we really don’t advise—” the man delicately began.

“I don’t care. I need to see him face-to-face,” Astrid insisted.

A few minutes later, Astrid sat quietly in the back of the Mercedes with tinted windows while Mr. Lui rode in the front passenger seat, frantically barking orders in Cantonese to the team assembled around 64 Pak Tin Street. Charlie wanted to come along, but Astrid had insisted on going alone. “Don’t worry, Charlie — nothing’s going to happen. I’m just going to have a talk with Michael.” Now her mind was reeling, and she was getting more and more antsy as the car inched through lunchtime traffic in Tsim Sha Tsui.

She just didn’t know what to think anymore. Who exactly was this girl? It looked like the affair must have been going on since before their wedding, but then why had Michael married her? It clearly wasn’t for money — her husband had always been so rabidly insistent about not wanting to benefit from her family’s wealth. He had readily signed the hundred-and-fifty-page prenuptial agreement without so much as a blink, as well as the postnuptial her family’s lawyers had insisted on after Cassian was born. Her money, and Cassian’s money, was more secure than the Bank of China’s. So what was it that motivated Michael to have a wife in Singapore, and a mistress in Hong Kong?

Astrid looked out her car window and noticed a Rolls-Royce Phantom next to her. Enthroned in the backseat was a couple, probably in their early thirties, dressed to the nines. The woman had short, smartly coiffed hair and was immaculately made up and dressed in a purple blouse with an enormous diamond-and-emerald floral brooch pinned to her right shoulder. The man at her side was sporting a florid Versace silk bomber jacket and Latin dictator — style dark sunglasses. Anywhere else in the world, this couple would have looked completely absurd — they were at least three decades too young to be chauffeured around so ostentatiously. But this was Hong Kong, and somehow it worked here. Astrid wondered where they came from, and where they were going. Probably off to lunch at the club. What secrets did they keep from each other? Did the husband have a mistress? Did the wife have a lover? Were there any children? Were they happy? The woman sat perfectly still, staring dead ahead, while the man slouched slightly away from her, reading the business section of the South China Morning Post. The traffic began to move again, and suddenly they were in Mong Kok, with its dense, hulking sixties apartment blocks crowding out the sunlight.

Before she knew it, Astrid was being led out of the car, flanked by four security men in dark suits. She looked around nervously as they escorted her to an old block of flats and into a small fluorescent-lit elevator with avocado-green walls. On the tenth floor, they emerged into an open-air hallway that skirted along an inner courtyard where lines of laundry hung from every available window. They walked past apartments with plastic slippers and shoes by the doorways, and soon they were in front of the metal-grille door of flat 10-07B.

The tallest man rang the doorbell once, and a moment later, Astrid could hear a few latches being undone. The door opened, and there he was. Her husband, standing right in front of her.

Michael glanced at the security detail surrounding Astrid and shook his head in disgust. “Let me guess, your father hired these goons to track me down.”

13 Cameron Highlands

MALAYSIA

Nick borrowed his father’s 1963 Jaguar E-Type roadster from the garage at Tyersall Park, and he and Rachel headed onto the Pan Island Expressway, bound for the bridge that linked Singapore to the Malay Peninsula. From Johor Bahru, they drove up the Utara-Selatan Highway, detouring to the seaside town of Malacca so that Nick could show Rachel the distinctive crimson-hued façade of Christ Church, built by the Dutch when the town was part of their colonial empire, and the charmingly ornate Peranakan row houses along Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock.

Afterward, they stayed on the old road that skirted along the Negeri Sembilan coast for a while. With the top down and the warm ocean breeze on her face, Rachel began to feel more relaxed than she had since arriving in Asia. The trauma of the past few days was dissipating, and at last it felt like they were truly on holiday together. She loved the wildness of these back roads, the rustic seaside hamlets that seemed untouched by time, the way Nick looked with day-old stubble and the wind whipping through his hair. A few miles north of Port Dickson, Nick turned down a dirt road thick with tropical vegetation, and as Rachel looked inland, she could glimpse miles and miles of uniformly planted trees.

“What are those perfect rows of trees?” Rachel asked.

“Rubber — we’re surrounded by rubber plantations,” Nick explained. They pulled up to a spot right by the beach, got out of the car, took off their sandals, and strolled onto the hot sand. A few Malay families were scattered about the beach having lunch, the ladies’ colorful head scarves flapping in the wind as they bustled around canteens of food and children who were more interested in frolicking in the surf. It was a cloudy day, and the sea was a mottled tapestry of deep green with patches of azure where the clouds broke.

A Malay woman and her son came toward them, hauling a big blue-and-white Styrofoam cooler. Nick began talking animatedly with the woman, buying two bundles from her Igloo before bending down and asking the boy a question. The boy nodded eagerly and ran off, while Nick found a shady spot underneath the low-hanging branches of a mangrove tree.

He handed Rachel a still-warm banana-leaf packet tied with string. “Try Malaysia’s most popular dish—nasi lemak,” he said. Rachel undid the string and the glossy banana leaf unfolded to reveal a neatly composed mound of rice surrounded by sliced cucumbers, tiny fried anchovies, roasted peanuts, and a hard-boiled egg.

“Pass me a fork,” Rachel said.

“There’s no fork. You get to go native on this — use your fingers!” Nick grinned.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope, that’s the traditional way. Malays believe the food actually tastes better when you eat with your hands. They only use the right hand to eat, of course. The left hand is used for purposes better left unmentioned.”

“But I haven’t washed my hands, Nick. I don’t think I can eat like this,” Rachel said, sounding a little alarmed.

“Come on, Miss OCD. Tough it out,” Nick teased. He scooped some of the rice into his fingers and began eating the nasi lemak with gusto.

Rachel gingerly scooped some of the rice into her mouth, instantly breaking into a smile. “Mmmm … it’s coconut rice!”

“Yes, but you haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. Dig a little deeper!”

Rachel dug into her rice and discovered a curry sauce oozing out from the middle along with big chunks of chicken. “Oh my God,” she said. “Does it taste this good because of all the different flavors or because we’re sitting on this gorgeous beach eating it?”

“Oh, I think it’s your hands. Your grotty hands are giving the food all the added flavor,” Nick said.

“I’m about to slap you with my grotty curry hands!” Rachel scowled at him. Just as she was finishing her last bite, the little boy from earlier ran up with two clear-plastic drinking bags filled with rough chunks of ice and freshly squeezed sugarcane juice. Nick took the drinks from the boy and handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Kamu anak yang baik,”[91] he said, patting the boy on the shoulder. The boy’s eyes widened in delight. He tucked the money into the elastic band of his soccer shorts and scrambled off to tell his mother about his windfall.

“You never cease to amaze me, Nicholas Young. Why didn’t I know you spoke Malay?” Rachel said.

“Only a few rudimentary words — enough to order food,” Nick replied modestly.

“That conversation you had earlier didn’t sound rudimentary to me,” Rachel countered, sipping the icy sweet sugarcane through a thin pink straw tucked into the corner of the plastic bag.

“Trust me, I’m sure that lady was cringing at my grammar.” Nick shrugged.

“You’re doing it again, Nick,” Rachel said.

“Doing what?

“You’re doing that annoying self-deprecating thing.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Rachel sighed in exasperation. “You say you don’t speak Malay when I hear you yapping away. You say, ‘Oh, this old house,’ when we’re in a friggin’ palace. You downplay everything, Nick!”

“I don’t even realize when I’m doing it,” Nick said.

“Why? I mean, you downplay things to the point that your parents don’t even have a clue how well you’re doing in New York.”

“It’s just the way I was brought up, I guess.”

“Do you think it’s because your family is so wealthy and you had to overcompensate by being super-modest?” Rachel suggested.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I was just trained to speak precisely and never to be boastful. Also, we’re not that wealthy.”

“Well then, what are you exactly? Are you guys worth hundreds of millions or billions?”

Nick’s face began to redden, but Rachel wouldn’t let up.

“I know it makes you uncomfortable, Nick, but that’s why I’m prodding you. You’re telling me one thing, but then I hear other people speaking as if the entire economy of Asia revolves around your family, and you’re, like, the heir to the throne. I’m an economist, for crying out loud, and if I’m going to be accused of being a gold digger, I’d like to know what I’m supposedly digging for,” Rachel said bluntly.

Nick fidgeted with the remnant of his banana leaf nervously. Since he was old enough to remember, it had been ingrained into him that any talk of the family wealth was off-limits. But it was only fair that Rachel know what she was getting herself into, especially if he was (very shortly) going to ask her to accept the canary diamond ring hidden in the lower right pocket of his cargo shorts.

“I know this may sound silly, but the truth is I really don’t know how rich my family is,” Nick began tentatively. “Now, my parents live very well, mostly due to the legacy my mum received from her parents. And I have a private income that’s not too shabby, mainly from stocks left to me by my grandfather. But we don’t have the kind of money that Colin’s or Astrid’s family does, not even close.”

“But how about your grandmother? I mean, Peik Lin says that Tyersall Park must be worth hundreds of millions just for the land alone,” Rachel interjected.

“My grandmother has always lived in the manner that she has, so I can only presume that her holdings are substantial. Three times a year Mr. Tay, an elderly gentleman from the family bank, comes up to Tyersall Park in the same brown Peugeot he’s driven ever since I was born and pays a visit to my grandmother. She meets with him alone, and it’s the only time her lady’s maids have to leave the room. So it’s never crossed my mind to ask her how much she’s worth.”

“And your father never talked to you about it?”

“My father has never once brought up the subject of money — he probably knows even less than I do. You know, when there’s always been money in your life, it’s not something you spend much time thinking about.”

Rachel tried to wrap her mind around that concept. “So why does everyone think you’ll end up inheriting everything?”

Nick bristled. “This is Singapore, and the idle rich spend all their time gossiping about other people’s money. Who’s worth how much, who inherited how much, who sold their house for how much. But everything that’s said about my family is pure speculation. The point is, I’ve never presumed that I will one day be the sole inheritor of some great fortune.”

“But you must have known that you were different?” Rachel said.

“Well, I sensed that I was different because I lived in this big old house with all these rituals and traditions, but I never thought it had anything to do with money. When you’re a kid, you’re more concerned with how many pineapple tarts you’re allowed to eat or where to catch the best tadpoles. I didn’t grow up with a sense of entitlement like some of my cousins did. At least, I hope not.”

“I wouldn’t have been attracted to you if you went around acting like some pompous prick,” Rachel said. As they walked back to the car, she slipped her arm around his waist. “Thank you for opening up. I know it wasn’t easy for you to talk about these things.”

“I want you to know everything about me, Rachel. I always have, which is why I invited you here in the first place. I’m sorry if it has felt like I wasn’t forthcoming — I just didn’t think any of this money talk was relevant. I mean, in New York, none of this really matters to our life, does it?”

Rachel paused for a while before answering. “It doesn’t, especially now that I have a better understanding of your family. I just needed to be sure that you’re the same person I fell in love with back in New York, that’s all.”

“Am I?”

“You’re way cuter now that I know you’re loaded.”

Nick laughed and pulled Rachel tightly into his arms, giving her a long, lingering kiss.

“Ready for a complete change of scenery?” he asked, kissing her chin and then moving down to the tender spot on her throat.

“I think I’m ready to get a room. Any motels close by?” Rachel breathed, her fingers still entangled in his hair, not wanting him to stop.

“I don’t think there are any motels you’d want to be in. Let’s race to Cameron Highlands before it gets dark — it’s only about three hours away. And then we can pick up where we left off on the most ginormous four-poster bed you’ve ever seen.”

They made good time on the E1 highway, passing through the capital city of Kuala Lumpur toward Ipoh. When they reached the town of Tapah — the gateway to the Cameron Highlands — Nick turned onto the picturesque old road and they began the ascent up the mountain. The car climbed the steep hill, with Nick expertly negotiating the twists and turns, honking the horn at every blind curve.

Nick was anxious to get to the house before sunset. He had called ahead and given explicit instructions to Rajah, the majordomo. There were going to be votive candles in white paper bags lining the way down to the lookout point at the end of the lawn, and a stand with chilled champagne and fresh mangosteens right next to the carved wooden bench where they could sit and take in the scenic view. Then, just as the sun was sinking behind the hills and thousands of tropical birds descended into the treetops, he would get down on one knee and ask Rachel to be his forever. He wondered which was the correct knee to get down on? Right or left?

Rachel, meanwhile, found herself clutching at her seat-belt buckle tightly as she gazed out the window at sheer drops down into jungle-like ravines. “Uh, I’m in no hurry to die,” she announced anxiously.

“I’m only going forty miles per hour. Don’t worry, I can drive this road blindfolded — I used to come here almost every weekend during the summer holidays. Plus, don’t you think it would be a glamorous way to die — careening down the side of a mountain in a classic Jag convertible?” Nick cracked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d rather live a few days longer. Annnnd, I’d rather be in an old Ferrari, like James Dean,” Rachel quipped.

“Actually, it was a Porsche.”

“Smart-ass!”

The hairpin curves soon gave way to a breathtaking view of undulating green hills punctuated by bright swaths of color. In the distance, Rachel could make out flower orchards tucked along the hillsides and quaint little cottages.

“This is Bertam Valley,” Nick said with a flourish. “We’re about twelve hundred meters above sea level now. Back in the colonial days this was where British officers would come to escape the tropical heat.”

Just past the town of Tanah Rata, they turned onto a narrow private road that snaked its way up a lushly planted hill. Behind another curve, a stately Tudor-style manor house on its own hillock suddenly reared into view. “I thought you promised you weren’t going to take me to some luxury hotel,” Rachel said in a half-chiding tone.

“This isn’t a hotel, this is my grandmother’s summer lodge.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Rachel said, gazing at the beautiful structure. The lodge wasn’t nearly as big as Tyersall Park, but it still looked formidably grand with its gabled roofs and black-and-white timbered woodwork. The whole place was aglow with lights blazing from the casement windows.

“Looks like we’ve been expected,” Rachel said.

“Well, I called ahead for them to prepare for our arrival — there’s a full staff all year round,” Nick replied. The house was situated halfway up a gentle slope, with a long, paved stone path leading up to the front door. Its façade was partially covered in ivy and wisteria, and lining both sides of the slope were rosebushes that grew almost up to eye level.

Rachel sighed, thinking she had never seen such a romantic mountain haven in her life. “What enormous roses!”

“These are special Cameronian roses that only grow in this climate. Isn’t the scent intoxicating?” Nick chatted on nervously. He knew he was only minutes away from one of the seminal moments of his life.

A young Malay butler wearing a crisp white dress shirt tucked into a gray-patterned sarong opened the door, bowing gallantly at them. Nick wondered where Rajah, the longtime butler, was. Rachel stepped into the front foyer and felt as if she had been transported once again into another era, to the colonial Malaya of a Somerset Maugham novel, perhaps. Anglo Raj wooden benches in the front hall were interspersed with wicker baskets brimming with freshly picked camellias, mica-shade lanterns hung from the mahogany-paneled walls, and a long, faded Tianjin silk carpet drew the eye straight back to the French doors and the glorious view of the highlands.

“Er, before I show you the rest of the house, let’s, um, take in the sunset view,” Nick said, feeling his throat go dry with anticipation. He led Rachel across the foyer and reached for the handle of the French doors leading out onto the terrace. Then suddenly he halted. He blinked a few times just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Standing at the edge of the expansive formal lawn having a smoke was Ahmad, his mother’s chauffeur.

“Fuck me!” Nick swore under his breath.

“What? What’s wrong?” Rachel asked.

“I think we’ve got company,” Nick muttered darkly. He turned around, heading for the drawing room down the hall. Peering in, his suspicions were confirmed. Sure enough, perched on the floral chintz settee facing the door was his mother, who shot him a rather triumphant look as he entered the room. He was about to say something when his mother announced, a little too cheerily, “Oh look, Mummy, Nick and Rachel have arrived!”

Rachel spun around. Sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace was Nick’s grandmother, swaddled in an embroidered cashmere shawl, being poured a cup of tea by one of her Thai lady’s maids.

“Ah Ma, what are you doing here?” Nick asked in astonishment.

“I received some very disturbing news, and so we rushed up here,” Su Yi said in Mandarin, speaking slowly and deliberately.

Nick always found it disconcerting when his grandmother spoke to him in Mandarin — he associated that particular dialect with childhood scoldings. “What news? What has happened?” Nick asked, getting concerned.

“Well, I heard that you ran off to Malaysia, and that you mean to ask the girl to marry you,” Su Yi said, not bothering to look at Rachel.

Rachel pursed her lips, shocked and thrilled at the same time.

“I was planning to surprise Rachel, but I guess that’s ruined now,” Nick huffed, staring at his mother.

“No matter, Nicky,” his grandmother smiled. “I do not give you permission to marry her. Now let’s stop all this nonsense and go home. I don’t want to be stuck having dinner here, when the cook hasn’t prepared properly for me. I’m sure she didn’t get any fresh fish today.”

Rachel’s jaw dropped.

“Ah Ma, I’m sorry I don’t have your blessing, but that doesn’t change a thing. I intend to marry Rachel, if she’ll have me,” Nick said calmly, glancing at Rachel hopefully.

“Don’t talk nonsense. This girl does not come from a proper family,” Su Yi said.

Rachel felt her face go hot. “I’ve heard enough of this,” she said in a quivering voice, turning to leave the room.

“No, Rachel, please don’t go,” Nick said, grabbing her by the arm. “I need you to hear this. Ah Ma, I don’t know what stories you’ve been told, but I have met Rachel’s family, and I like them very much. They have certainly shown me a great deal more courtesy, warmth, and respect than our family has shown to Rachel.”

“Of course they should respect you — after all, you’re a Young,” Su Yi said.

“I can’t believe you just said that!” Nick groaned.

Eleanor stood up and approached Rachel, looking her in the eye. “Rachel, I’m sure you’re a nice girl. You must know I am doing you a favor. With your kind of background, you will be miserable in this family—”

“Stop insulting Rachel’s family when you don’t even know them!” Nick snapped. He put his arm on Rachel’s shoulder and declared, “Let’s get out of here!”

“You’ve met her family?” Eleanor called after him.

Nick turned back with a scowl. “Yes, I’ve met Rachel’s mother many times, and I went to Thanksgiving at her uncle’s in California, where I got to know many of her relatives.”

“Even her father?” Eleanor asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Rachel’s father died a long time ago, you already know that,” Nick said impatiently.

“Well, that’s a very convenient story, isn’t it? But I assure you he’s very much alive,” Eleanor shot back.

“What?” Rachel said, confused.

“Rachel, you can stop pretending, lah. I know all about your father—”

“What?”

“Aiyoh, look at her act!” Eleanor twisted her face mockingly. “You know as well as I do that your father is still alive!”

Rachel looked at Eleanor as if she was talking to a deranged woman. “My father died in a horrible industrial accident when I was two months old. That’s why my mother brought me to America.”

Eleanor studied the girl for a moment, trying to discern whether she was giving the performance of a lifetime or speaking the truth. “Well, I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you, Rachel. Your father did not die. He’s in a prison outside Shenzhen. I met him myself a few weeks ago. The man was rotting away behind rusty bars, but he still had the nerve to demand an enormous dowry in exchange for you!”

Eleanor took out a faded manila envelope, the same envelope she had been given by the investigator in Shenzhen. She placed three pieces of paper on the coffee table. One was a copy of Rachel’s original birth certificate. The next was a 1992 press clipping about the jailing of a man named Zhou Fang Min, after he had ordered illegal cost-cutting measures that led to a construction accident that killed seventy-four workers in Shenzhen (HUO PENG CONDO TRAGEDY UPDATE: MONSTER JAILED AT LAST! the headline screamed). The third was a notice of a reward from the Zhou family, for the safe return of a baby named Zhou An Mei, who had been kidnapped by her mother, Kerry Ching, in 1981.

Nick and Rachel took a few steps toward the table and stared at the papers in astonishment.

“What the hell did you do, Mum? You had Rachel’s family investigated?” Nick kicked over the coffee table.

Nick’s grandmother shook her head as she sipped her tea. “Imagine wanting to marry a girl from such a family! So disgraceful! Really, Nicky, what would Gong Gong say if he was alive? Madri, this tea needs a little more sugar.”

Nick was livid. “Ah Ma, it’s taken me about twenty years, but I finally understand why Dad moved to Sydney! He can’t stand being around you!”

Su Yi put down her teacup, stunned by what her favorite grandson had just said.

Rachel grabbed at Nick’s wrist urgently. He would never forget the look of devastation on her face. “I think … need air,” she muttered, before collapsing into the wicker tea cart.

14 64 Pak Tin Street

HONG KONG

The apartment was not the love nest Astrid had imagined — the living room was tiny, with a green vinyl sofa, three wooden dining-room chairs, and bright blue plastic buckets full of toys taking up one side of the room. Only the muffled sounds of a neighbor practicing “Ballade pour Adeline” on the electric keyboard filled the silence. Astrid stood in the middle of the cramped space, wondering how her life had come to this. How did it get to the point where her husband had resorted to fleeing to this sad romper room?

“I can’t believe you got your dad’s men to track me down,” Michael muttered contemptuously, sitting down on the sofa and stretching his arms out along its back.

“My father had nothing to do with this. Can’t you give me a little credit for having my own resources?” Astrid said.

“Great. You win,” Michael said.

“So this is where you’ve been coming. Is this where your mistress lives?” Astrid finally ventured to ask.

“Yes,” Michael said flatly.

Astrid was silent for a while. She picked up a little stuffed elephant from one of the buckets and gave it a squeeze. The elephant made a muffled electronic roar. “And these are your son’s toys?”

Michael hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” he finally answered.

“BASTARD!” Astrid screamed, throwing the elephant at him with all her might. The elephant bounced off his chest, and Astrid sank to the floor, trembling as her body was racked with violent sobs. “I don’t … care … who you fuck … but how could you do this … to our son?” She sputtered through her tears.

Michael leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this. As badly as he wanted out of the marriage, he couldn’t take hurting her anymore. Things had spiraled out of control, and it was time to come clean. He got up from the sofa and crouched down beside her.

“Listen to me, Astrid,” he began, placing an arm on her shoulder. Astrid jerked backward and pushed his arm away.

“Listen to me. The boy isn’t my son, Astrid.”

Astrid looked up at him, not quite registering what he meant.

Michael looked Astrid directly in the eyes and said, “That’s not my son, and there is no mistress.”

Astrid’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I know there was a woman here. I even recognize her.”

“You recognize her because she’s my cousin. Jasmine Ng — her mother is my auntie, and the little boy is her son.”

“So … who have you been having an affair with?” Astrid asked, more confused than ever.

“Don’t you get it? It’s all been an act, Astrid. The text messages, the presents, everything! It’s all fake.”

“Fake?” Astrid whispered in shock.

“Yes, I faked everything. Well, except the dinner at Petrus. I took Jasmine as a treat — her husband has been working in Dubai and she’s had a hard time managing on her own.”

“I can’t believe this …” Astrid said, her voice trailing off in astonishment.

“I’m sorry, Astrid. It was a stupid idea, but I didn’t think I had any other choice.”

“Any other choice? What do you mean?”

“I thought it would be far better for you to want to leave me than for me to divorce you. I would rather be labeled the cheating bastard with an illegitimate son, so that you could … your family could save face,” Michael said rather dejectedly.

Astrid stared at him incredulously. For a few minutes, she sat completely still as her mind sifted through everything that had happened in the past few months. Then she spoke. “I thought I was going insane … I wanted to believe you were having an affair, but my heart kept telling me that you would never do such a thing to me. That just wasn’t the man I married. I was so confused, so conflicted, and that’s really what made it so painful. An affair or a mistress I could deal with, but something else didn’t seem right, something kept gnawing away at me. It’s finally beginning to make sense now.”

“I never wanted this to happen,” Michael said softly.

“Then why? What did I ever do to make you this miserable? What made you go to all the trouble to fake an entire affair?”

Michael sighed deeply. He got up off the floor and perched on one of the wooden chairs. “It’s just never worked, Astrid. Our marriage. It hasn’t worked from day one. We had a great time dating, but we should never have married. We were wrong for each other, but we both got so swept up in the moment — in, let’s face it, the sex — that before I realized what was happening, we were standing in front of your pastor. I thought, what the hell, this is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. I’ll never be this lucky again. But then reality hit … and things got to be too much. It just got worse, year after year, and I tried, I really tried, Astrid, but I can’t face it anymore. You don’t have a clue what it’s like being married to Astrid Leong. Not you, Astrid, but everyone’s idea of you. I could never live up to it.”

“What do you mean? You have lived up to it—” Astrid began.

“Everyone in Singapore thinks I married you for your money, Astrid.”

“You’re wrong, Michael!”

“No, you just don’t see it! But I can’t face another dinner at Nassim Road or Tyersall Park with some minister of finance, some genius artist I don’t get, or some tycoon who has a whole bloody museum named after him, feeling like I’m just a piece of meat. To them, I’m always ‘Astrid’s husband.’ And those people — your family, your friends — they stare at me with such judgment. They’re all thinking, ‘Aiyah, she could have married a prince, a president — why did she marry this Ah Beng[92] from Toa Payoh?’ ”

“You’re imagining things, Michael! Everyone in my family adores you!” Astrid protested.

“That’s bullshit and you know it! Your father treats his fucking golf caddie better than me! I know my parents don’t speak Queen’s English, I didn’t grow up in a big mansion in Bukit Timah, and I didn’t attend ACS—‘American Cock Suckers,’ as we used to call it — but I’m not some loser, Astrid.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“Do you know how it feels to be treated like I’m the bloody tech-support guy all the time? Do you know how it feels when I have to visit your relatives every Chinese New Year in their incredible houses, and then you have to come with me to my family’s tiny flats in Tampines or Yishun?”

“I’ve never minded, Michael. I like your family.”

“But your parents don’t. Think about it … in the five years we’ve been married, my mother and father haven’t once — not even once—been invited to dinner at your parents’ house!”

Astrid went pale. It was true. How could she not have realized it? How had her family been so thoughtless?

“Face it, Astrid, your parents will never respect my family the same way they respect your brothers’ wives’ families. We’re not mighty Tans or Kahs or Kees — we’re Teos. You can’t really blame your parents. They were born that way — it’s just not in their DNA to associate with anyone who isn’t from their class, anyone who isn’t born rich or royal.”

“But you’re on your way to doing just that, Michael. Look at how well your company is doing,” Astrid said encouragingly.

“My company — ha! You want to know something, Astrid? Last December, when the company finally broke even and we did our first profit sharing, I got a bonus check for two hundred and thirty-eight thousand. For one minute, one whole minute, I was so happy. It was the most money I had ever made. But then it hit me … I realized that no matter how long I work, no matter how hard I sweat my ass off all day long, I will never make as much money in my whole life as you make in one month alone.”

“That’s not true, Michael, that’s just not true!” Astrid cried.

“Don’t patronize me!” Michael shouted angrily. “I know what your income is. I know how much those Paris dresses cost you! Do you know how it feels to realize that my pathetic two-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus can’t even pay for one of your dresses? Or that I’ll never be able to give you the type of house you grew up in?”

“I’m happy where we live, Michael. Have I ever complained?”

“I know about all your properties, Astrid, all of them.”

“Who told you about them?” Astrid asked in shock.

“Your brothers did.”

“My brothers?”

“Yes, your dear brothers. I never told you what happened when we got engaged. Your brothers called me one day and invited me to lunch, and they all showed up. Henry, Alex, and even Peter came down from K.L. They invited me to the snotty club on Shenton Way that they all belong to, took me into one of the private dining rooms, and sat me down. Then they showed me one of your financial reports. Just one. They said, ‘We want you to have a glimpse of Astrid’s financial picture, so you have an idea of what she netted last year.’ And then Henry said to me — and I’ll never forget his words—‘Everything Astrid has is safeguarded by the best team of lawyers in the world. No one outside the Leong family will ever benefit from or come to control her money. Not if she divorces, not even if she dies. Just thought you should know, old chap.’ ”

Astrid was horrified. “I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What good would that do?” Michael said bitterly. “Don’t you see? From day one, your family didn’t trust me.”

“You don’t ever have to spend a single minute with my family again, I promise. I am going to talk to my brothers. I am going to give them hell. And no one will ever ask you to recover their hard drives or reprogram their wine fridges again, I promise. Just please, don’t leave me,” she pleaded, the tears flooding down her cheeks.

“Astrid, you are talking nonsense. I would never want to deprive you of your family — your whole life revolves around them. What would you do if you weren’t at Wednesday mah-jongg with your great-aunt Rosemary, Friday-night dinner at your Ah Ma’s, or Pulau Club movie night with your dad?”

“I can give it up. I can give all of that up!” Astrid cried, burying her head in his lap and clinging to him tightly.

“I wouldn’t want you to. You’ll be happier without me in the long run. I’m just holding you back.”

“But what about Cassian? How can you just abandon our son like this?”

“I’m not abandoning him. I will still spend as much time with him as you’ll let me. Don’t you see? If I was ever going to leave, this is the perfect time — before Cassian is old enough to be affected by it. I will never stop being a good father to him, but I can’t stay married to you. I just don’t want to live in your world anymore. There’s no way I can measure up to your family, and I don’t want to keep resenting you for who you are. I made a terrible mistake, Astrid. Please, please just let me go,” he said, his voice getting choked up.

Astrid looked up at Michael, realizing it was the first time she had ever seen him cry.

15 Villa d’Oro

SINGAPORE

Peik Lin knocked softly on the door. “Come in,” Rachel said.

Peik Lin entered the bedroom gingerly, holding a gold tray with a covered earthenware bowl. “Our cook made some pei daan zhook[93] for you.”

“Please thank her for me,” Rachel said disinterestedly.

“You can stay in here as long as you want, Rachel, but you need to eat,” Peik Lin said, staring at Rachel’s gaunt face and the dark circles under her eyes, puffy from all the crying.

“I know I look like hell, Peik Lin.”

“Nothing a good facial won’t fix. Why don’t you let me whisk you away to a spa? I know a great place in Sentosa that has—”

“Thank you, but I just don’t think I’m ready yet. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Okay, tomorrow,” Peik Lin chirped. Rachel had been saying the same thing all week, but she had not left the bedroom once.

When Peik Lin left the room, Rachel took the tray and placed it against the wall next to the door. She hadn’t had an appetite for days, not since the night she had fled from Cameron Highlands. After fainting in the drawing room in front of Nick’s mother and grandmother, she had been quickly revived by the expert ministrations of Shang Su Yi’s Thai lady’s maids. As she regained consciousness, she found a cold towel being dabbed on her forehead by one maid, while the other was performing reflexology on her foot.

“No, no, please stop,” Rachel said, trying to get up.

“You mustn’t get up so quickly,” she heard Nick’s mother say.

“The girl has such a weak constitution,” she heard Nick’s grandmother mutter from across the room. Nick’s worried face appeared over her.

“Please Nick, get me out of here,” she pleaded weakly. She had never wanted to leave someplace more desperately in her life. Nick scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the door.

“You can’t leave now, Nicky! It’s too dark to drive down the mountain, lah!” Eleanor called after them.

“You should have thought of that before you decided to play God with Rachel’s life,” Nick said through clenched teeth.

As they drove down the winding road away from the lodge, Rachel said, “You don’t have to drive down the mountain tonight. Just drop me off at that town we passed through.”

“We can go anywhere you want to, Rachel. Why don’t we get off this mountain and spend the night in K.L.? We can get there by ten.”

“No, Nick. I don’t want to drive anymore. I need some time on my own. Just drop me off in town.”

Nick was silent for a moment, thinking carefully before he responded.

“What are you going to do?”

“I want to check into a motel and go to sleep, that’s all. I just want to be away from everyone.”

“I’m not sure you should be alone right now.”

“For God’s sake, Nick, I’m not some basket case, I’m not going to slit my wrists or take a million Seconals. I just need some time to think,” Rachel answered sharply.

“Let me be with you.”

“I really need to be alone, Nick.” Her eyes seemed glazed over.

Nick knew that she was in a deep state of shock — he was shocked himself, so he could scarcely imagine what she was going through. At the same time, he was racked with guilt, feeling responsible for the damage that had been done. It was his fault again. Intent on finding Rachel a tranquil haven, he had inadvertently led her right into a viper’s nest. He even pulled her hand in to be bitten. His fucking mother! Maybe one night alone would do her no harm. “There’s a little inn down in the lower valley called the Lakehouse. Why don’t I drive you there and check you into a room?”

“That’s fine,” she responded numbly.

They drove in silence for the next half hour, Nick never taking his eyes off the treacherous curves, while Rachel stared at the rush of blackness out her window. They pulled up to the Lakehouse shortly after eight. It was a charming, thatched-roof house that looked like it had been transported straight out of the Cotswolds, but Rachel was too numb to notice any of it.

After Nick had checked her into a plushly decorated bedroom, lit the logs in the stone fireplace, and kissed her goodbye, promising to return first thing in the morning, Rachel left the room and headed straight to the reception desk. “Can you please stop payment on that credit card?” she said to the night clerk. “I won’t be needing the room, but I will be needing a taxi.”

Three days after arriving at Peik Lin’s, Rachel crouched on the floor in the far corner of the bedroom and summoned the courage to call her mother in Cupertino.

“Aiyah, so many days I haven’t heard from you. You must be having such a good time!” Kerry Chu said cheerily.

“Like hell I am.”

“Why? What happened? Did you and Nick fight?” Kerry asked, worried by her daughter’s strange tone.

“I just need to know one thing, Mom: Is my father still alive?”

There was a fraction of a pause on the other end of the line. “What are you talking about, daughter? Your father died when you were a baby. You know that.”

Rachel dug her nails into the plush carpeting. “I’m going to ask you one more time: Is. My. Father. Alive?”

“I don’t understand. What have you heard?”

“Yes or no, Mom. Don’t waste my fucking time!” she spat out.

Kerry gasped at the force of Rachel’s anger. It sounded like she was in the next room. “Daughter, you need to calm down.”

“Who is Zhou Fang Min?” There. She had said it.

There was a long pause before her mother said nervously, “Daughter, you need to let me explain.”

She could feel her heart pounding in her temples. “So it’s true. He is alive.”

“Yes, but—”

“So everything you’ve told me my entire life has been a lie! A BIG FUCKING LIE!” Rachel held the phone away from her face and screamed into it, her hands shaking with rage.

“No, Rachel—”

“I’m going to hang up now, Mom.”

“No, no, don’t hang up!” Kerry pleaded.

“You’re a liar! A kidnapper! You’ve deprived me from knowing my father, my real family. How could you, Mom?”

“You don’t know what a hateful man he was. You don’t understand what I went through.”

“That’s not the point, Mom. You lied to me. About the most important thing in my life.” Rachel shuddered as she broke down in sobs.

“No, no! You don’t understand—”

“Maybe if you hadn’t kidnapped me, he wouldn’t have done all the horrible things he did. Maybe he wouldn’t be in jail now.” She looked down at her hand and realized she was pulling out tufts of the carpet.

“No, daughter. I had to save you from him, from his family.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Mom. Who can I trust now? My name isn’t even real. WHAT’S MY REAL NAME?”

“I changed your name to protect you!”

“I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore.”

“You’re my daughter! My precious daughter!” Kerry cried, feeling utterly helpless standing in her kitchen in California while her daughter’s heart was breaking somewhere in Singapore.

“I need to go now, Mom.”

She hung up the phone and crawled onto the bed. She lay on her back, letting her head hang off the side. Maybe the rush of blood would stop the pounding, would end the pain.

The Goh family was just sitting down to some poh piah when Rachel entered the dining room.

“There she is!” Wye Mun called out jovially. “I told you Jane Ear would come down sooner or later.”

Peik Lin made a face at her father, while her brother Peik Wing said, “Jane Eyre was the nanny, Papa, not the woman who—”

“Ho lah, ho lah,[94] smart aleck, you get my point,” Wye Mun said dismissively.

“Rachel, if you don’t eat something you are going to deeesappear!” Neena chided. “Will you have one poh piah?”

Rachel glanced at the lazy Susan groaning with dozens of little plates of food that seemed completely random and wondered what they were having. “Sure, Auntie Neena. I’m absolutely starving!”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Neena said. “Come, come, let me make you one.” She placed a thin wheat-flour crepe on a gold-rimmed plate and scooped a big serving of meat-and-vegetable filling onto the middle. Next she slathered some sweet hoisin sauce on one side of the crepe and reached for the little dishes, scattering plump prawns, crab meat, fried omelet, shallots, cilantro, minced garlic, chili sauce, and ground peanuts over the filling. She finished this off with another generous drizzle of sweet hoisin and deftly folded the crepe into what looked like an enormous bulging burrito.

“Nah—ziak!” Peik Lin’s mother commanded.

Rachel began inhaling her poh piah ravenously, barely tasting the jicama and Chinese sausage in the filling. It had been a week since she had eaten much of anything.

“See? Look at her smile! There is nothing in the world that good food cannot fix,” Wye Mun said, helping himself to another crepe.

Peik Lin got up from her seat and gave Rachel a big hug from behind. “It’s good to have you back,” she said, her eyes getting moist.

“Thank you. In fact, I really need to thank all of you, from the bottom of my heart, for letting me camp out here for so long,” Rachel added.

“Aiyah, I’m just so happy you’re eating again!” Neena grinned. “Now, time for mango ice-kleam sundaes!”

“Ice cream!” the Goh granddaughters screamed in delight.

“You’ve been through a lot, Rachel Chu. I’m glad we are able to help.” Wye Mun nodded. “You are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“No, no, I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Rachel smiled sheepishly, wondering how she could have let herself hole up in their guest room for so many days.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” Peik Lin asked.

“Yeah. I’m going to head back to the States. But first,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “I think I need to go to China. I’ve decided that, for better or for worse, I want to meet my father.”

The whole table went silent for a moment. “What’s the rush?” Peik Lin asked gently.

“I’m already on this side of the globe — why not meet him now?” Rachel said, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal.

“Are you going to go with Nick?” Wye Mun asked.

Rachel’s face darkened. “No, he’s the last person I want to go to China with.”

“You are going to tell him, though?” Peik Lin inquired delicately.

“I might … I haven’t really decided yet. I just don’t want a reenactment of Apocalypse Now. I’ll be in the middle of meeting my father for the first time and next thing you know, one of Nick’s relatives will land in the prison yard in a chopper. I’ll be glad if I never have to see another private jet, yacht, or fancy car for the rest of my life,” Rachel vehemently declared.

“Okay, Papa, cancel the NetJets membership,” Peik Wing wisecracked.

Everyone at the table laughed.

“Nick’s been calling every day, you know,” Peik Lin said. “I’m sure he has.”

“It’s been pretty pathetic,” P.T. reported. “It was four times a day when you first got here, but he tapered off to once a day. He drove up here twice, hoping we might let him come in, but the guards told him he had to move along.”

Rachel’s heart sank. She could imagine how Nick was feeling, but at the same time, she didn’t know how to face him. He had suddenly become a reminder of everything that had gone wrong in her life.

“You should see him,” Wye Mun said gently.

“I disagree, Papa,” Peik Wing’s wife, Sheryl, piped in. “If I were Rachel, I would never want to see Nick or anyone in that evil family again. Who do those people think they are? Trying to ruin people’s lives!”

“Alamak, why make the poor boy suffer? It’s not his fault that his mother is a chao chee bye!” Neena exclaimed. The whole table exploded in laughter, except for Sheryl, who made a face as she covered her daughters’ ears.

“Hiyah, Sheryl, they’re too young to know what it means!” Neena assured her daughter-in-law.

“What does that mean?” Rachel asked.

“Rotten cunt,” P.T. whispered with relish.

“No, no, smelly rotten cunt,” Wye Mun corrected. Everyone roared again, Rachel included.

Recovering herself, Rachel sighed. “I guess I ought to see him.”

Two hours later Rachel and Nick were seated at an umbrella-shaded table by the swimming pool of Villa d’Oro, the sound of trickling gilded fountains punctuating the silence. Rachel gazed at the water ripples reflecting off the gold-and-blue mosaic tiles. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Nick. Strangely, what had been the most beautiful face in the world to her had become too painful to look at. She found herself suddenly mute, not quite knowing how to begin.

Nick swallowed nervously. “I don’t even know how to begin to ask for your forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You weren’t responsible for this.”

“But I am. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I put you in one horrendous situation after another. I’m so sorry, Rachel. I’ve been recklessly ignorant about my own family — I had no idea how crazy my mum would get. And I always thought my grandmother wanted me to be happy.”

Rachel stared at the sweaty glass of iced tea in front of her, not saying anything.

“I’m so relieved to see that you’re okay. I’ve been so worried,” Nick said.

“I’ve been well taken care of by the Gohs,” Rachel said simply.

“Yes, I met Peik Lin’s parents earlier. They’re lovely. Neena Goh demanded that I come to dinner. Not tonight, of course, but …”

Rachel gave the barest hint of a smile. “The woman is a feeder, and you look like you’ve lost some weight.” Actually, he looked terrible. She had never seen him like this — he looked like he had slept in his clothes, and his hair had lost its floppy sheen.

“I haven’t been eating much.”

“Your old cook at Tyersall Park hasn’t been preparing all your favorite dishes?” Rachel said a little sarcastically. She knew her pent-up anger was misdirected at Nick, but in the moment she couldn’t help herself. She realized he was as much a victim of circumstances as she was, but she wasn’t able to look past her own pain just yet.

“Actually, I’m not staying at Tyersall Park,” Nick said.

“Oh?”

“I haven’t wanted to see anyone since that night in Cameron Highlands, Rachel.”

“Are you back at the Kingsford Hotel?”

“Colin’s let me crash at his house in Sentosa Cove while he’s away on his honeymoon. He and Araminta have been very worried about you too, you know.”

“How nice of them,” she said flatly, staring out across the pool at the replica of Venus de Milo. An armless statue of a beautiful maiden fought over by collectors for centuries, even though its origins have never been verified. Maybe someone should chop off her arms too. Maybe she would feel better.

Nick reached out and placed his hand over Rachel’s. “Let’s go back to New York. Let’s go home.”

“I’ve been thinking … I need to go to China. I want to meet my father.”

Nick paused. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“Is anyone ever ready to meet the father they never knew, who’s in a prison?”

Nick sighed. “Well, when do we leave?”

“Actually, Peik Lin is coming with me.”

“Oh,” Nick said, a little taken aback. “Can I come? I’d like to be there for you.”

“No, Nick, this is something I need to do on my own. It’s already enough that Peik Lin insisted on coming. But her father has friends in China who are helping with the red tape, so I couldn’t say no. I’ll be in and out within a couple of days, and then I’ll be ready to head back to New York.”

“Well, just let me know when you want to change the return date on our plane tickets. I’m ready to go home anytime, Rachel.”

Rachel inhaled deeply, bracing herself for what she was about to say. “Nick, I need to go back to New York … on my own.”

“On your own?” Nick said in surprise.

“Yes. I don’t need you to cut short your summer vacation and fly back with me.”

“No, no, I’m as sick of this place as you are! I want to go home with you!” Nick insisted.

“That’s the thing, Nick. I don’t think I can deal with that right now.”

Nick looked at her sadly. She was clearly still in a world of pain.

“And when I’m back in New York,” she continued, her voice getting shaky, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

“What? What do you mean?” Nick said in alarm.

“I mean exactly that. I’ll get my things out of your apartment as soon as I get back, and then when you return—”

“Rachel, you’re crazy!” Nick said, leaping out of his chair and crouching down beside her. “Why are you saying all this? I love you. I want to marry you.”

“I love you too,” Rachel cried. “But don’t you see — it’s never going to work.”

“Of course it is. Of course it is! I don’t give a damn what my family thinks — I want to be with you, Rachel.”

Rachel shook her head slowly. “It’s not just your family, Nick. It’s your friends, your childhood friends — it’s everyone on this island.”

“That’s not true, Rachel. My best friends think the world of you. Colin, Mehmet, Alistair, and there are so many friends of mine you haven’t even had the chance to meet. But that’s all beside the point. We live in New York now. Our friends are there, our life is there, and it’s been great. It will continue to be great once we’ve left all this insanity behind.”

“It’s not that simple, Nick. You probably didn’t notice it yourself, but you said ‘we live in New York now.’ But you won’t always be living in New York. You’ll be returning here someday, probably within the next few years. Don’t kid yourself — your whole family is here, your legacy is here.”

“Oh fuck all that! You know I couldn’t care less about that bullshit.”

“That’s what you say now, but don’t you see how things might change in time? Don’t you think you might start to resent me in years to come?”

“I could never resent you, Rachel. You’re the most important person in my life! You have no idea — I’ve barely slept, barely eaten — the past seven days have been absolute hell without you.”

Rachel sighed, clamping her eyes shut for a moment. “I know you’ve been in pain. I don’t want to hurt you, but I think it’s really for the best.”

“To break up? You’re not making any sense, Rachel. I know how much you’re hurting right now, but breaking up won’t make it hurt any less. Let me help you, Rachel. Let me take care of you,” Nick pleaded fervently, hair getting into his eyes.

“What if we have children? Our children will never be accepted by your family.”

“Who cares? We’ll have our own family, our own lives. None of this is significant.”

“It’s significant to me. I’ve been thinking about it endlessly, Nick. You know, at first I was so shocked to learn about my past. I was devastated by my mother’s lies, to realize that even my name wasn’t real. I felt like my whole identity had been robbed from me. But then I realized … none of it really matters. What is a name anyway? We Chinese are so obsessed with family names. I’m proud of my own name. I’m proud of the person I’ve become.”

“I am too,” Nick said.

“So you’ll have to understand that, as much as I love you, Nick, I don’t want to be your wife. I never want to be part of a family like yours. I can’t marry into a clan that thinks it’s too good to have me. And I don’t want my children to ever be connected to such people. I want them to grow up in a loving, nurturing home, surrounded by grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins who consider them equals. Because that’s ultimately what I have, Nick. You’ve seen it yourself, when you came home with me last Thanksgiving. You see what it’s like with my cousins. We’re competitive, we tease each other mercilessly, but at the end of the day we support each other. That’s what I want for my kids. I want them to love their family, but to feel a deeper sense of pride in who they are as individuals, Nick, not in how much money they have, what their last name is, or how many generations they go back to whatever dynasty. I’m sorry, but I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of being around all these crazy rich Asians, all these people whose lives revolve around making money, spending money, flaunting money, comparing money, hiding money, controlling others with money, and ruining their lives over money. And if I marry you, there will be no escaping it, even if we live on the other side of the world.”

Rachel’s eyes were brimming with tears, and as much as Nick wanted to insist she was wrong, he knew nothing he could say now would convince her otherwise. In any part of the world, whether New York, Paris, or Shanghai, she was lost to him.

16 Sentosa Cove

SINGAPORE

It must have been a bird or something, Nick thought, waking up to a sound. There was a blue jay that liked to tap its beak against the sliding glass wall downstairs by the reflecting pool every morning. How long had he been sleeping? It was seven forty-five, so this meant he’d knocked off at least four and a half hours. Not bad, considering that he hadn’t been able to sleep more than three hours a night since Rachel had broken up with him a week ago. The bed was bathed in a pool of light coming from the retractable glass roof, and now it was far too bright for him to go back to sleep. How did Colin manage to get any sleep in this place? There was something so impractical about living in a house that consisted mainly of reflecting pools and glass walls.

Nick turned over, facing the Venetian stucco wall with the large Hiroshi Sugimoto photograph. It was a black-and-white image from his cinema series, the interior of an old theater somewhere in Ohio. Sugimoto had left the camera shutter open for the duration of the film, so that the large screen became a glowing, rectangular portal of light. To Nick, it seemed like a portal to a parallel universe, and he wished he could just slip into all that whiteness and disappear. Maybe go back in time. To April, or May. He should have known better. He should never have invited Rachel to come here without first giving her a crash course in how to deal with his family. “Rich, Entitled, Delusional Chinese Families 101.” Could he really be part of this family? The older he got, and the more years he spent abroad, the more he felt like a stranger in their midst. Now that he was in his thirties, the expectations kept growing, and the rules kept changing. He didn’t know how to keep up with this place anymore. And yet he loved being back home. He loved the long rainy afternoons at his grandmother’s house during monsoon season, hunting for kueh tutu[95] in Chinatown, the long walks around MacRitchie Reservoir at dusk with his father …

There was the sound again. This time it didn’t sound like the blue jay. He had fallen asleep without arming the security system, and now someone was definitely in the house. He threw on a pair of shorts and tiptoed out of the bedroom. The guest bedroom was accessed through a glass skywalk that stretched across the back section of the house, and looking down, he could see the flicker of a reflection as it moved across the polished Brazilian oak floors. Was the house being burglarized? Sentosa Cove was so isolated, and anyone reading the gossip rags knew Colin Khoo and Araminta Lee were away on their fabulous honeymoon yachting around the Dalmatian coast.

Nick hunted around for a weapon; the only thing he could find was a carved didgeridoo propped against the wall of the guest bathroom. (Would someone actually play the didgeridoo while sitting on the loo?) He crept down the floating titanium stairs and walked slowly toward the galley kitchen, raising the didgeridoo to strike just as Colin appeared from around the corner.

“Christ!” Nick swore in surprise, putting down his weapon.

Colin seemed unruffled by the sight of Nick in nothing more than a pair of soccer shorts, wielding a rainbow-colored didgeridoo. “I don’t think that makes a good weapon, Nick,” he said. “Should have gone for the antique samurai sword in my bedroom.”

“I thought someone was breaking in!”

“There are no break-ins around here. This neighborhood is way too secure, and thieves can’t be bothered to drive out here just to steal customized kitchen appliances.”

“What are you doing back from your honeymoon so early?” Nick asked, scratching his head.

“Well, I heard disturbing rumors that my best friend was suicidal and wasting away in my house.”

“Wasting away, but not suicidal.” Nick groaned.

“Seriously, Nicky, you have a lot of people worried about you.”

“Oh, like who? And don’t say my mother.”

“Sophie’s been worried. Araminta. Even Mandy. She called me in Hvar. I think she feels really bad about how she acted.”

“Well, the damage has been done,” Nick said gruffly.

“Listen, why don’t I make you a quick breakfast? You look like you haven’t eaten in years.”

“That’ll be great.”

“Watch, as the Iron Chef attempts to fry up some hor bao daan.”[96]

Nick perched on a barstool at the island in the kitchen, wolfing down his breakfast. He held up a fork of eggs. “Almost as good as Ah Ching’s.”

“Pure luck. My bao daan usually end up as scrambled eggs.”

“Well, it’s the best thing I’ve eaten all week. Actually, it’s the only thing I’ve eaten. I’ve just been parked on your sofa, bingeing on beer and episodes of Mad Men. By the way, you’re out of Red Stripe.”

“This is the first time you’ve ever really been depressed, isn’t it? Finally the heartbreaker discovers how it feels to get his heart broken.”

“I don’t actually hold the trademark on that name. Alistair’s the true heartbreaker.”

“Wait a minute — you haven’t heard? Kitty Pong dumped him!”

“Now that’s a shocker,” Nick remarked drily.

“No, you don’t know the whole story! At the tea ceremony the day after the wedding, Araminta and I were in the middle of pouring tea for Mrs. Lee Yong Chien when we all heard this strange noise coming from somewhere. It sounded like a rattling crossed with some kind of farm animal giving birth. No one could figure out what it was. We thought maybe a bat was stuck somewhere in the house. So a few of us started looking around discreetly, and you know how my grandfather’s colonial house on Belmont Road is — there are all these huge built-in closets everywhere. Well, little Rupert Khoo opens the door under the grand staircase and out tumble Kitty and Bernard Tai, right in front of all the guests!”

“NOOOOOOO!” Nick exclaimed.

“And that’s not the worst of it. Bernard was bent over spread-eagle with his pants around his ankles, and Kitty still had two fingers up his bum when the door popped open!”

Nick broke out into hysterical fits, slapping the travertine counter repeatedly as tears ran down his cheeks.

“You should have seen the look on Mrs. Lee Yong Chien’s face! I thought I was going to have to perform CPR!” Colin sniggered.

“Thanks for the laugh — I needed that.” Nick sighed, trying to catch his breath. “I feel bad for Alistair.”

“Oh, he’ll get over it. I’m more worried about you. Seriously, what are you going to do about Rachel? We need to get you cleaned up and back on your white horse. I think Rachel could use your help now more than ever.”

“I know that, but she’s adamant about wanting me out of her life. She made it clear she never wanted to see me again, and those Gohs have done a damn good job of enforcing that!”

“She’s still in shock, Nicky. With all that’s happened to her, how could she possibly know what she wants?”

“I know her, Colin. When her mind is made up there’s no going back. She’s not a sentimentalist. She’s very pragmatic, and she’s so stubborn. She’s decided that because of the way my family is, being together will never work. Can you blame her, after what they’ve done? Isn’t it ironic? Everyone thinks she’s some kind of gold digger, when she’s the complete opposite. She broke up with me because of my money.”

“I told you I liked her from the day we met — she’s the real deal, isn’t she?” Colin observed.

Nick gazed out the window at the view across the bay. In the morning haze, the Singapore skyline almost resembled Manhattan’s. “I loved the life we had together in New York,” he said wistfully. “I loved getting up early on Sunday mornings and going to Murray’s to pick up bagel sandwiches with her. I loved spending hours wandering around the West Village, going to Washington Square Park to check out the dogs playing in the dog run. But I fucked it all up. I’m the reason her life has become a total mess.”

“You’re not the reason, Nicky.”

“Colin—I ruined her life. Because of me, she no longer has a relationship with her mother, and they were like best friends. Because of me, she found out that her father is a convict, that everything she believed about herself has been a lie. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t brought her here. As much as I want to believe there’s a part of her that still loves me, we’re trapped in an impossible situation.” Nick sighed.

A sudden rapping noise, consistent as Morse code, echoed through the kitchen. “What’s that?” Colin asked, looking around. “I sure hope it’s not Kitty and Bernard again.”

“No, that’s the blue jay,” Nick said, getting up from the barstool and heading toward the living room.

“What blue jay?”

“Don’t you know? There’s this blue jay that visits every morning without fail, and for about ten minutes it will keep flying into the glass wall and pecking at it.”

“I guess I’m never up this early.” Colin entered the living room and stared out the window, enthralled by the cobalt-blue bird darting through the air, its tiny black beak hitting against the glass pane for a moment before swooping away, only to return seconds later, like a tiny pendulum swinging against the glass.

“I keep wondering if he’s just sharpening his beak, or whether he’s really trying to come in,” Nick said.

“Have you thought of opening the glass wall and seeing if he will fly in?” Colin suggested.

“Er … no,” Nick said, looking at his friend as if it was the most brilliant thing he had ever heard. Colin picked up the house remote control and pressed a button. The glass panels began to open effortlessly.

The blue jay zipped into the living room at top speed, heading straight for the massive painting of brightly colored dots against the far wall, where it began pecking mercilessly at one of the bright yellow dots. “Oh my God, the Damien Hirst! It’s been attracted to those bright dots all along!” Nick cried in amazement.

“Are you sure it’s not the world’s tiniest art critic?” Colin quipped. “Look at the way it’s attacking the painting!”

Nick rushed up to the painting, waving his arms to shoo the bird off.

Colin sprawled onto his George Nakashima bench. “Well, Nicky, I hate to point out the obvious, but here’s this tiny bird that’s been trying to get through a huge bulletproof glass wall. A totally impossible situation. You tell me it’s been here every day pecking away persistently for ten minutes. Well, today the glass wall came down.”

“So you’re saying I should free the bird? I should just let Rachel go?”

Colin gave Nick an exasperated look. “No, you idiot! If you love Rachel as much as you say you do, then you need to be that blue jay for her.”

“Okay, so what would the blue jay do?” Nick asked.

“He would never give up trying. He would take an impossible situation and make everything possible.”

17 Repulse Bay

HONG KONG

The Corsair speedboat collected Astrid from the jetty on the crescent-shaped beach and sped out into the deep emerald waters of Repulse Bay. Rounding the cove, Astrid caught her first glimpse of a majestic three-masted Chinese junk moored in Chung Hom Wan, with Charlie standing on its prow waving at her.

“How magnificent!” Astrid said as the speedboat pulled alongside the junk.

“I thought you could do with a little pick-me-up,” Charlie said bashfully, as he helped her climb on deck. He had watched anxiously from the sidelines for the past couple of weeks as Astrid progressed through several stages of grief — going from shock to rage to despair while holed up at his duplex. When it seemed like she had come to a place of acceptance, he invited her for an afternoon sail, thinking that the fresh air would do her some good.

Astrid found her footing and smoothed out her navy capri pants. “Should I take off my shoes?”

“No, no. If you were wearing your usual stilettos, that would be one thing, but you’re fine in those flats,” Charlie assured her.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to ruin any of this amazing woodwork.” Astrid admired the gleaming golden teak surfaces around her. “How long have you had this junk?”

“Technically, it belongs to the company, since we’re supposed to use it to impress clients, but I’ve been working on restoring it for the past three years. Weekend project, you know.”

“How old is it?”

“She is from the eighteenth century — a pirate junk that smuggled opium in and out of all the tiny surrounding islands of southern Canton, which is precisely the course I’ve charted for today,” Charlie said, as he gave the order to set sail. The massive tarpaulin sails were unfurled, turning from burnt sienna to a bright crimson in the sunlight as the vessel lurched into motion.

“There’s a family legend that my great-great-grandfather dealt in opium, you know. In a very big way — that’s how part of the family fortune was really made,” Astrid said, turning her face into the breeze as the junk began to glide swiftly along.

“Really? Which side of the family?” Charlie raised an eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t say. We’re not allowed to talk about it, so I’m pretty sure it’s true. My great-grandmother was apparently completely addicted and spent all her time horizontal in her private opium den.”

“The daughter of the opium king became an addict? That’s not a good business strategy.”

“Karma, I guess. At some point, we all have to pay the price for our excesses, don’t we?” Astrid said ruefully.

Charlie knew where Astrid was going with this. “Don’t go beating yourself up again. I’ve said it a hundred times now — there was nothing you could have done to prevent Michael from doing what he wanted to do.”

“Sure there was. I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking back on all the things I could have done differently. I could have refused when my lawyers insisted that he sign that prenup. I could have stopped going to Paris twice a year and filling up our spare bedroom with couture dresses. I could have given him less-expensive presents — that Vacheron for his thirtieth birthday was a huge mistake.”

“You were only being yourself, and to anyone but Michael, it would have been perfectly okay. He should have known what he was getting himself into when he married you. Give yourself a little more credit, Astrid — you might have extravagant tastes, but that’s never stopped you from being a good person.”

“I don’t know how you can say all this about me, when I treated you so horribly, Charlie.”

“I never held a grudge against you, you know that. It was your parents I was mad at.”

Astrid stared up at the blue sky. A lone seagull seemed to be flying in tandem with the ship, flapping its wings forcefully to keep up with it. “Well, now my parents will surely regret that I didn’t marry you, once they find out that their precious daughter has been dumped by Michael Teo. Imagine, my parents were once so aghast at the prospect of you becoming their son-in-law. They stuck their noses up at your father’s brand-new fortune, made from computers, and now your family is one of the most celebrated in Asia. Now the Leongs are going to have to face the shame of having a divorcée in the family.”

“There’s nothing shameful about it. Divorce is getting so common these days.”

“But not in our kind of families, Charlie. You know that. Look at your own situation — your wife won’t give you a divorce, your mother won’t even hear of it. Think of what it’s going to be like in my family when they find out the truth. They won’t know what hit them.”

Two deckhands approached with a wine bucket and a gigantic platter overflowing with fresh longans and lychees. Charlie popped open the bottle of Château d’Yquem and poured Astrid a glass.

“Michael loved Sauternes. It was one of the few things we both loved,” Astrid said wistfully as she took a sip from her wineglass. “Of course, I learned to appreciate soccer, and he learned to appreciate four-ply toilet paper.”

“But were you really that happy, Astrid?” Charlie asked. “I mean, it seems like you sacrificed so much more than he did. I still can’t imagine you living in that little flat, smuggling your shopping into the spare bedroom like an addict.”

“I was happy, Charlie. And more important, Cassian was happy. Now he’s going to have to grow up a child of divorce, ping-ponging between two households. I’ve failed my son.”

“You haven’t failed him,” Charlie scolded. “The way I see it, Michael was the one who abandoned ship. He just couldn’t take the heat. As much of a coward as I think he is, I can also empathize a bit. Your family is pretty intimidating. They sure gave me a run for my money, and they won in the end, didn’t they?”

“Well, you weren’t the one who gave in. You stood up to my family and never let them get to you. I was the one who caved,” Astrid said, expertly peeling a longan and popping the pearly fruit into her mouth.

“Still, it’s far easier for a beautiful woman from an ordinary background to marry into a family like yours than for a man who doesn’t come from any wealth or lineage. And Michael had the added disadvantage of being good-looking — the men in your family were probably jealous of him.”

Astrid laughed. “Well, I thought he was up for the challenge. When I first met Michael, he didn’t seem to care one bit about my money or my family. But in the end I was wrong. He did care. He cared too much.” Astrid’s voice cracked, and Charlie stretched out his arms to comfort her. Tears streamed down her face quietly, turning quickly into racking sobs as she leaned into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept saying, embarrassed by her uncontrolled display. “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stop crying.”

“Astrid, it’s me. You don’t have to keep your emotions in check around me. You’ve thrown vases and goldfish bowls at me, remember?” Charlie said, trying to lighten the mood. Astrid smiled fleetingly as the tears continued to flow. Charlie felt helpless and at the same time frustrated by the absurdity of the situation. His smoking-hot ex-fiancée was on a romantic Chinese junk with him, literally crying on his shoulder about another man. This was just his damn luck.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Charlie said softly.

“I do. Of course I do,” Astrid sobbed.

For a few hours, they sat quietly side by side, soaking in the sun and the salty spray as the junk floated along the calm waters of the South China Sea. They sailed past Lantau Island, Charlie bowing respectfully to the giant Buddha at its peak, and skirted past tiny picturesque islands like Aizhou and Sanmen, with their rugged out-croppings and hidden inlets.

All the while, Charlie’s mind kept churning nonstop. He had coerced Astrid into coming on this afternoon sail because he wanted to make a confession. He wanted to tell her that he had never stopped loving her, not for one moment, and that his marriage one year after their breakup had been nothing but a mindless rebound. He had never truly loved Isabel, and their marriage was doomed from the start because of it. There were so many things Charlie wanted her to know, but he knew it was too late to tell them.

At least she had loved him once. At least he had four good years with the girl he had loved since he was fifteen, since the night he had watched her sing “Pass It On” on the beach during a church youth group outing. (His family had been Taoists, but his mother had forced all of them to attend First Methodist so they could mix with a ritzier crowd.) He could still remember the way the flickering bonfire made her long wavy hair shimmer in the most exquisite reds and golds, how her entire being glowed like Botticelli’s Venus as she so sweetly sang:

“Can I make a suggestion, Astrid?” Charlie said as the junk made its way back to Repulse Bay to drop her off.

“What?” Astrid asked sleepily.

“When you get home tomorrow, do nothing. Just go back to your normal life. Don’t make any announcements, and don’t grant Michael a quick divorce.”

“Why not?”

“I have a feeling Michael could have a change of heart.”

“What makes you think that will happen?”

“Well, I’m a guy, and I know how guys think. At this point, Michael’s played all his cards, he’s gotten a huge load off his chest. There’s something really cathartic about that, about owning up to your truth. Now, if you let him have some time to himself, I think you’ll find that he might be receptive to a reconciliation a few months down the line.”

Astrid was dubious. “Really? But he was so adamant about wanting a divorce.”

“Think about it — Michael’s deluded himself into thinking he’s been trapped in an impossible marriage for the past five years. But a funny thing happens when men truly get a taste of freedom, especially when they’re accustomed to married life. They begin to crave that domestic bliss again. They want to re-create it. Look, he told you the sex was still great. He told you he didn’t blame you, aside from blowing too much money on clothes. My instinct tells me that if you just let him be, he will come back.”

“Well, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Astrid said hopefully.

“It is. But you have to promise me two things: first, you need to live your life the way you want to, instead of how you think Michael would want you to. Move into one of your favorite houses, dress however it pleases you. I really feel that what ate into Michael was the way you spent all your time tiptoeing around him, trying to be someone you weren’t. Your overcompensating for him only increased his feelings of inadequacy.”

“Okay,” Astrid said, trying to soak it all in.

“Second, promise me you won’t grant him a divorce for at least one year, no matter how much he begs for it. Just stall him. Once you sign the papers, you lose the chance of him ever coming back,” Charlie said.

“I promise.”

As soon as Astrid had disembarked from the junk at Repulse Bay, Charlie made a phone call to Aaron Shek, the chief financial officer of Wu Microsystems.

“Aaron, how’s our share price doing today?”

“We’re up two percent.”

“Great, great. Aaron, I want you to do me a special favor … I want you to look up a small digital firm based in Singapore called Cloud Nine Solutions.”

“Cloud Nine …” Aaron began, keying the name into his computer. “Headquartered in Jurong?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Aaron, I want you to acquire the company tomorrow. Start low, but I want you to end up offering at least fifteen million for it. Actually, how many partners are there?”

“I see two registered partners. Michael Teo and Adrian Balakrishnan.”

“Okay, bid thirty million.”

“Charlie, you can’t be serious? The book value on that company is only—”

“No, I’m dead serious,” Charlie cut in. “Start a fake bidding war between some of our subsidiaries if you have to. Now listen carefully. After the deal is done, I want you to vest Michael Teo, the founding partner, with class-A stock options, then I want you to bundle it with that Cupertino start-up we acquired last month and the software developer in Zhongguancun. Then, I want us to do an IPO on the Shanghai Stock Exchange next month.”

“Next month?”

“Yes, it has to happen very quickly. Put the word out on the street, let your contacts at Bloomberg TV know about it, hell, drop a hint to Henry Blodget if you think it will help drive up the share price. But at the end of the day I want those class-A stock options to be worth at least $250 million. Keep it off the books, and set up a shell corporation in Liechtenstein if you have to. Just make sure there are no links back to me. Never, ever.”

“Okay, you got it.” Aaron was used to his boss’s idiosyncratic requests.

“Thank you, Aaron. See you at CAA on Sunday with the kids.”

The eighteenth-century Chinese junk pulled into Aberdeen Harbour just as the first evening lights began to turn on in the dense cityscape hugging the southern shore of Hong Kong Island. Charlie let out a deep sigh. If he didn’t have a chance of getting Astrid back, he at least wanted to try to help her. He wanted her to find love again with her husband. He wanted to see the joy return to Astrid’s face, that glow he had witnessed all those years ago at the bonfire on the beach. He wanted to pass it on.

18 Villa d’Oro

SINGAPORE

Peik Lin walked down the stairs carrying a Bottega Veneta tote. Behind her were two Indonesian maids bearing a pair of Goyard suitcases and a carry-on valise.

“You do realize that we’re going to be there for one night? You look like you’ve packed enough for a monthlong safari,” Rachel said incredulously.

“Oh please, a girl’s gotta have options,” Peik Lin said, tossing her hair comically.

They were about to embark on the trip to Shenzhen, where Rachel had arranged to meet her father, an inmate at Dongguan Prison. She had initially been reluctant to set foot on another private jet, but Peik Lin had prevailed upon her.

“Trust me, Rachel. We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Peik Lin said. “The hard way is to fly for four and a half hours on some third-rate airline and land in the clusterfuck that is Shenzhen Bao’an International Airport, where we can wait in a customs line for the rest of the day with thirty thousand of your closest friends — the vast majority of whom have never heard of antiperspirant and won’t share the same concept of personal space as you do. Or, we can call up NetJets right now and fly on leather seats made from cows that have never seen barbed wire and drink Veuve Clicquot for the two and a half hours it takes to fly to Shenzhen, where upon landing, a young, fit customs officer will climb aboard our plane, stamp our passports, flirt with you because you’re so pretty, and send us on our merry way. You know, flying private isn’t always about showing off. Sometimes it can actually be for convenience and ease. But I’ll defer to you. If you really want to go the chicken-bus route, I’m game.”

This morning, however, with Rachel looking rather ashen-faced, Peik Lin began to wonder if the trip was a good idea so soon.

“You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?” Peik Lin observed.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d miss having Nick next to me at night,” Rachel said softly.

“His gorgeous, rock-hard body, you mean?” Peik Lin added with a wink. “Well, I’m sure he’d be happy to come over and climb back into bed with you in a nanosecond.”

“No, no, that’s not going to happen. I know it’s over. It has to be,” Rachel declared, her eyes moistening around the edges.

Peik Lin opened her mouth to say something, but then she stopped herself.

Rachel looked at her intently. “Just say it!”

Peik Lin put her tote bag down and perched on the velvet brocade settee in the entrance foyer. “I just think you need to give yourself some time before you make any final decisions about Nick. I mean, you’re going through so much right now.”

“It sounds like you’re on his side,” Rachel said.

“Rachel — what the fuck? I’m on your side! I want to see you happy, that’s all.”

Rachel said nothing for a moment. She sat down on the staircase and ran her fingers along the cold smooth marble. “I want to be happy, but every time I think about Nick, I just go right back to the most traumatic moment of my life.”

Trump, the fattest of the three Pekingese, waddled into the foyer. Rachel picked up the dog and placed him on her lap. “I guess that’s why I feel like I need to meet my father. I remember watching some talk show one night where adopted children finally got reunited with their birth parents. Every single one of these kids — all of them were adults at this point — talked about how they felt after meeting their birth parents. Even if they didn’t get along, even if their parents were nothing like what they expected, all of them somehow felt more whole after the experience.”

“Well, in less than four hours, you’ll be sitting face-to-face with your father,” Peik Lin said.

Rachel’s face clouded over. “You know, I’m dreading the drive up to that place. Dongguan Prison. Even the name sounds ominous.”

“I don’t think they want it to sound like it’s Canyon Ranch.”

“It’s supposed to be medium security, so I wonder if we’ll actually be in the same room together, or whether I’ll have to talk to him behind bars,” Rachel said.

“Are you sure you want to do this? We really don’t have to do this today, you know. I can just cancel the flight. It’s not like your father’s going anywhere,” Peik Lin said.

“No, I want to go. I want to get this over with,” Rachel said definitively. She ruffled the dog’s golden fur for a moment and stood up, smoothing out her skirt.

They made their way to the front door, where the metallic-gold BMW, already loaded with their luggage, awaited. Rachel and Peik Lin got into the back, and the chauffeur pulled down the sloping driveway toward the gilded electronic gates of Villa d’Oro. Just as the gates were opening, an SUV suddenly pulled up in front of them.

“Who’s the asshole blocking our way?” Peik Lin snapped.

Rachel looked out the windshield and saw a silver Land Rover with tinted windows. “Wait a minute …” she began, thinking she recognized the car. The driver’s door opened, and Nick jumped out. Rachel sighed, wondering what kind of stunt he was trying to pull now. Was he going to insist on coming along to Shenzhen with them?

Nick approached the car and rapped on the back window.

Rachel lowered the window slightly. “Nick, we have a plane to catch,” she said in frustration. “I appreciate that you want to help, but I really don’t want you to go to China.”

“I’m not going to China, Rachel. I’m bringing China to you,” Nick said, flashing a smile.

“Whaaaat?” Rachel said, glancing at the Land Rover, half expecting a man in an orange jumpsuit and shackles to emerge. Instead, the passenger door opened and a woman in a pale orange trench-coat dress with pixie-cut black hair stepped out. It was her mother.

Rachel flung open her car door and jumped out hastily. “What are you doing here? When did you arrive?” she said defensively in Mandarin to her mother.

“I just landed. Nick told me what happened. I told him we had to stop you from going to China, but he said he wasn’t going to get involved anymore. So I said I had to reach you before you tried to meet your father, and Nick chartered a private plane for me,” Kerry explained.

“I wish he hadn’t.” Rachel moaned in dismay. These rich people and their friggin’ planes!

“I’m glad he did. Nick has been so wonderful!” Kerry exclaimed.

“Great — why don’t you throw him a parade or take him out for oysters? I’m on my way to Shenzhen right now. I need to meet my father.”

“Please don’t go!” Kerry tried to grab hold of Rachel’s arm, but Rachel jerked back defensively.

“Because of you, I’ve had to wait twenty-nine years to meet my father. I’m not waiting another second!” Rachel shouted.

“Daughter, I know you didn’t want to see me, but I needed to tell you this myself: Zhou Fang Min is not your father.”

“I’m not listening to you anymore, Mom. I’m tired of all the lies. I’ve read the articles about my kidnapping, and Mr. Goh’s Chinese lawyers have already been in touch with my father. He’s very eager to meet me.” Rachel was adamant.

Kerry looked pleadingly into her daughter’s eyes. “Please believe me — you don’t want to meet him. Your father is not the man in Dongguan Prison. Your father is someone else, someone I truly loved.”

“Oh great, now you’re telling me I’m the illegitimate daughter of some other guy?” Rachel could feel the torrent of blood rushing into her head, and she felt as if she was back in that horrific drawing room in Cameron Highlands. Just when things were beginning to make sense to her, everything was turned upside down again. Rachel turned to Peik Lin and gave her a dazed look. “Could you ask your driver to step on his gas pedal and just run me over right now? Tell him to make it quick.”

19 The Star Trek House

SINGAPORE

Daisy Foo phoned Eleanor in a panic, telling her to come quickly, but Eleanor still could not believe her eyes when she entered the living room of Carol Tai’s mansion, the one everyone called the “Star Trek House.” Sister Gracie, the Taiwan-born Houston-based Pentecostal preacher who had just flown in at Carol’s request, circled around the lavishly appointed space as if in a trance, smashing up all the antique Chinese furniture and porcelain, while Carol and her husband sat in the middle of the room on the woven silk sofa, watching the destruction in a daze as two disciples of Sister Gracie’s prayed over them. Following behind the diminutive preacher with tightly permed gray hair was a full brigade of servants, some helping to break the objects she pointed at with her rosewood walking stick, others frantically sweeping up all the debris and putting it into giant black garbage bags.

“False idols! Satanic objects! Leave this house of peace,” Sister Gracie screamed, her voice echoing throughout the cavernous room. Priceless Ming vases were smashed, Qing dynasty scrolls were torn up, and gold-dipped Buddhas were toppled to the ground as Sister Gracie decreed every object bearing the depiction of an animal or a face to be satanic. Owls were satanic. Frogs were satanic. Grasshoppers were satanic. Lotus flowers, though not an animal and faceless, were also deemed satanic because of their association with Buddhist iconography. But there was none more evil than the devilish dragon.

“Do you know why tragedy has befallen this house? Do you know why your firstborn son, Bernard, has defied your wishes and run off to Vegas to marry some pregnant soap-opera harlot who pretends to be from Taiwan? It is because of these idols! Just look at the intricate lapis lazuli dragon on this imperial folding screen! Its evil ruby eyes have transfixed your son. You have surrounded him with symbols of sin every day of his life. What do you expect him to do but sin?”

“What utter nonsense is she talking? Bernard hasn’t lived in this house for years,” Lorena Lim whispered. But Carol was looking at Sister Gracie as if she were receiving a message from Jesus Christ himself, and she continued to allow the wholesale destruction of antiquities that would have made any museum curator weep.

“It’s been like this for hours. They started in the dato’s study,” Daisy whispered. Eleanor jumped a little as Sister Gracie tipped over a Qianlong funerary urn next to her. “Those snakes on that urn! Those snakes are descended from the one in the Garden of Eden,” Sister Gracie screeched.

“Alamak, Elle, Lorena, come help me rescue some things from Carol’s bedroom before Sister Gracie gets in there. If she sees that ivory sculpture of Quan Yin, the goddess of mercy, she’s going to start convulsing! That Quan Yin has been around since the twelfth century, but it will have no hope surviving this one,” Daisy said furtively. The three of them backed slowly away from the living room and made a beeline for Carol’s bedroom.

The ladies rushed about wrapping up any decorative objects that could possibly be at risk in towels and pillowcases and shoving them into their handbags and random shopping bags.

“Those jade parrots! Grab those jade parrots!” Daisy instructed.

“Is the water buffalo considered satanic?” Lorena wondered, holding up a delicate horn carving.

“Aiyah, don’t stand there using eye power! Take everything! Put it all in your handbag! We can return everything to Carol once she comes to her senses,” Daisy barked.

“I wish I’d used my Birkin and not my Kelly today,” Lorena lamented as she tried to fit the water buffalo into her stiff leather handbag.

“Okay, my driver is parked just outside the kitchen door. Give me the first shopping bags and I will run them over to my car,” Eleanor said. As she grabbed the first two shopping bags from Daisy, a maid entered Carol’s bedroom.

Eleanor knew she had to get past the maid with her suspiciously bulging shopping bags. “Girlie, fetch me a glass of iced tea with lemon,” she said in her most imperious tone.

“Alamak, Elle, it’s me — Nadine!” Eleanor almost dropped her shopping bags in shock. Nadine was utterly unrecognizable. She was dressed in yoga sweats, and gone was the thick mask of makeup, the over-teased hair, and the ostentatious jewelry.

“Oh my God, Nadine, what happened to you? I thought you were one of the maids!” Eleanor exclaimed.

“Nadine, I love your new look! Aiyah, now I can see how Francesca used to look just like you, before her cheek implants,” Daisy gushed.

Nadine smiled bleakly, plopping down on Carol’s Huanghuali bed. “My father-in-law woke up from his coma, as you know. We were all so happy, and when they discharged him from the hospital, we drove him home and had a surprise party waiting for him. All the Shaws were there. But we forgot the old man had never been to the new house — we bought Leedon Road after he had gone into a coma. Old man threw a fit when he realized this was our new house. He said, ‘Wah, who do you think you are, living in such a big mansion with so many cars and servants?’ Then when he got inside and saw Francesca all dressed up, he started to choke. He started screaming that she looked like a prostitute from Geylang.[97] Aiyah, she was wearing haute couture for her grandpa! Is it her fault that hemlines are so short this season? The very next morning, he made his lawyers take back control of Shaw Foods. He kicked my poor Ronnie off the board, and he froze all the bank accounts, everything. Now he has ordered us to return every penny we’ve spent in the last six years, or he’s threatening to disinherit all of us and give his whole fortune to the Shaw Foundation!”

“My goodness, Nadine. How are you managing?” Lorena asked, gravely concerned. Nadine was one of L’Orient Jewelry’s biggest clients, and her sudden reversal of fortune would surely affect the quarterly numbers.

“Well, you see my new look. For now, we are all trying to act kwai kwai. I mean, how many more years can that old man live? He’ll have another stroke in no time. I’ll be fine — I spent years living in that cramped shop house with him, remember? We put Leedon Road on the market, but the problem is Francesca. She doesn’t want to move back to a small house again. It’s so malu for her. She’s really suffering. Francesca was always Grandpa’s favorite, and now he’s taken away her monthly allowance. How is she supposed to live on her lawyer’s salary? Wandi Meggaharto and Parker Yeo have dropped her, and she’s had to resign from every charitable board. She just can’t afford the clothes for it anymore. She blames Ronnie and me. She comes into our bedroom every night and screams and screams at us. She thinks we should have pulled the plug on the old man when we had the chance. Can you imagine? I never realized my own daughter could ever say such a thing!”

“I’m sorry to say this, Nadine, but this is what happens when you try to give your children everything,” Daisy sagely offered. “Look at what’s happened with Bernard. From the time he was a small boy I already knew he was a disaster waiting to happen. The dato’ spoiled him rotten, and never ever said no to him. And he thought he was being so clever, giving the boy that huge trust fund when he turned eighteen. Now look what’s happened. They’re getting Kitty Pong as a daughter-in-law. No amount of antique-smashing is going to change that.”

Lorena giggled. “Poor Carol — she’s always been such a good Christian, but now she has to deal with having a satanic Kitty in her life!” The ladies all laughed.

“Well, at least we succeeded in stopping that Rachel Chu from getting at Nicky,” Nadine commented.

Eleanor shook her head sadly. “What’s the use? My Nicky has stopped talking to me. I don’t have a clue where he is — he’s even broken off contact with his grandmother. I tried calling Astrid to find him, but she’s missing too. Sum toong, ah. You love your children so much, you do everything to try to protect them, and they don’t even appreciate it.”

“Well, even if he doesn’t want to see you right now, at least you succeeded in saving him from that girl,” Lorena said comfortingly.

“Yes, but Nicky doesn’t realize how much damage he’s done to his relationship with his grandmother. I trained him to never, ever offend her, but he hurt her terribly in Cameron Highlands. You should have seen the old lady — she didn’t speak once all the way back to Singapore. And take it from me, that woman never forgives. Now all the sacrifices I have made will have been for nothing,” Eleanor said sadly, her voice cracking a little.

“What do you mean?” Nadine asked. “What sort of sacrifices did you make for Nicky?”

Eleanor sighed. “Aiyah, Nadine, my whole life has been spent protecting him within my husband’s family, and positioning him to be the favorite grandson. I know my mother-in-law never truly approved of me, so I even got out of the way. I moved out of Tyersall Park so there wouldn’t be two competing Mrs. Youngs. I always let her come first in Nicky’s life, and because of this he’s been closer to her. But I accepted that. It was for his own good. He deserves to be the heir to her fortune, the heir to Tyersall Park, but he no longer seems to care. He would rather be a bloody history professor. Hiyah, I always knew sending him to England would be a mistake. Why do we Chinese never learn? Every time we get mixed up with the West, everything falls apart.”

Just then, Sister Gracie came walking down the lawn toward the bedroom pavilion with Carol and her husband trailing behind. She called out loudly, “Now, what demons lie in wait here? Exodus 20:3–6 says, ‘You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the Lord your God am a jealous God.’ ”

Daisy glanced at the other ladies and said urgently, “Everyone grab a shopping bag and run for the doors. Don’t look at them, just keep moving!”

20 Villa d’Ora

SINGAPORE

Peik Lin sequestered Rachel and her mother in the library, shutting the boiserie doors behind her firmly. She then padded out to the terrace bar overlooking the pool and began mixing margaritas for herself and Nick. “I think we both deserve about a dozen of these, don’t we?” she said, handing him a tall frosty glass.

Surrounded by bookshelves filled with gold-tooled leather volumes, Rachel perched on the cushioned bay-window seat and stared out at the rose garden angrily. All she wanted to do was get on that plane to China, but once again Nick had screwed things up. Kerry grabbed one of the dark green leather chairs by the reading desk and turned it around so she could sit facing her daughter. Even though Rachel wouldn’t look at her, she took a deep breath and began the story she had flown halfway around the world to tell.

“Daughter, I have never told this story to anyone, and it is something I always intended to spare you from. I hope you will not judge me, and that you will listen with an open mind, an open heart.

“When I was seventeen, I fell in love with a man who was six years older. Yes, it was Zhou Fang Min. His family was from Xiamen, in Fujian Province. He was one of those ‘Red Princelings’ and he came from a rich family — at least, for that time period, they were considered rich. His father was the general manager of a state-owned construction company. He was well placed in the Communist Party, and one of his older brothers was a high-level party chief in Guangdong Province. So the Zhous received the concession to build the new school in our village, and Fang Min was sent to oversee the construction. It was his summer job. Back then, I was in my final year of secondary school and working nights as a waitress in the only bar in our village, so that is how I met him. Now, up till this time I had spent my entire life in this small village outside of Zhuhai. I had never even left our province, so you can only imagine what it was like when this twenty-three-year-old man with slick black hair came into the bar, dressed in Western-style clothes — I remember his shirts were all Sergio Tacchini or Fred Perry, and he wore a gold Rolex. What’s more, Fang Min had an expensive motorbike and chain-smoked Kent cigarettes smuggled into the country by one of his cousins, and he would brag to me about his family’s big house and big Japanese car, and tell me tales of his holidays in Shanghai, Beijing, and Xi’an. I had never met a more handsome or sophisticated man, and I fell head over heels in love. Of course, back then, I had very long hair and fair skin, so Fang Min took an interest in me.

“Now, when my parents heard that this rich man was coming to the bar every night, taking an interest in me, they tried to put a stop to it. My parents were not like other parents — they did not care that he came from a rich family; they wanted me to concentrate on my studies so I could qualify for university. It was so hard to get into university in those days, especially if you were a girl, and that was my parents’ sole dream — to have a child that got into university. But after so many years of being the perfect daughter and doing nothing but studying, I rebelled. Fang Min started taking me on his motorcycle in secret to Guangzhou, the biggest city in the province, and there I discovered a whole other world. I had no idea there was an entire class of people like Fang Min — the children of other high-ranking Communist Party members, who got to dine in special restaurants and shop in special stores. Fang Min treated me to expensive meals and expensive clothes. I became intoxicated by this world, and my parents noticed that, bit by bit, I was changing. When they found out he had taken me to Guangzhou, they forbid me to see him, which of course made me want to be with him even more. It was like Romeo and Juliet. I would sneak out of our flat late at night to meet him, get caught and punished, but a few days later I would do it again.

“Then, a few months later, when the construction project was finished and Fang Min was heading back to Xiamen, we made plans for me to run away with him. That’s why I never finished my studies. I ran away to Xiamen, and we quickly got married. My parents were devastated, but I thought all my dreams had come true. Here I was living in a big house with his rich and important parents, getting to ride in a big Nissan sedan that had white curtains on the back windows. See, Rachel, you are not the only one who has experience dating a rich boy. But my dream quickly turned sour. I soon found out how awful his family was. His mother was one of these extremely traditional women, and she was a northerner, from Henan. So she was very snobbish, and she never let me forget that I was just a village girl who got very, very lucky because of my looks. At the same time, I was expected to perform a million and one daughter-in-law duties, like preparing tea for her every morning, reading the newspapers to her, and rubbing her shoulders and feet after dinner every night. I had gone from being a student to being a servant. Then the pressure started for me to get pregnant, but I was having trouble conceiving. So it made my mother-in-law very upset — she wanted a grandchild desperately. What use was a daughter-in-law if you didn’t have a grandchild? Fang Min’s parents became very displeased that I wasn’t getting pregnant, and we started having big fights.

“I don’t know how I managed it, but I convinced Fang Min to move us to our own apartment. And that’s when things turned into a living nightmare. Without his parents under the same roof to check on him, my husband suddenly lost interest in me. He went out drinking and gambling every night and started seeing other women. It was as if he were still single, and he would come home late at night, completely drunk, and sometimes he wanted to have sex, but other times he just wanted to beat me up. It excited him. Then he would bring home other women to have sex in our bed, and he forced me to be with them. It was terrible.”

Rachel shook her head in dismay, making eye contact with her mother for the first time. “I don’t understand how you put up with that.”

“Hiyah, I was only eighteen! I was so naïve and afraid of my worldly husband, and most of all I was too humiliated to tell my parents what a mistake I’d made. After all, I had run away and abandoned them in order to marry this rich boy, so I had to make the best of it. Now, right underneath our apartment lived this family with one son. His name was Kao Wei, and he was a year younger than me. My bedroom happened to be right over his, so he could hear everything that was happening every night. One night, Fang Min came home in a rage. I’m not sure what made him so angry on this night — maybe he lost some money gambling, maybe one of his girlfriends got mad at him. Anyway, he decided to take it out on me. He began to break all the furniture in the apartment, and when he broke a chair and started coming after me with the jagged chair leg, I fled the apartment. I was so afraid that in his drunken rage he would accidentally kill me. Kao Wei heard me leaving, so as I ran down the stairs, he opened his door and pulled me into his flat, while Fang Min ran outside of the building and began screaming in the street. That is how Kao Wei and I met.

“For the next few months, Kao Wei would comfort me after every bad fight and even help me devise tactics to avoid my husband. I would buy sleeping pills, crush them up, and put them into his wine so that he would fall asleep before he could get violent. I would invite his friends over for dinner and make them stay as late as possible, until he passed out drunk. Kao Wei even put a stronger lock on the toilet door so that it would be harder for Fang Min to break through. Slowly but surely, Kao Wei and I fell in love. He was my only friend in the building, in the whole city, actually. And yes, we started to have an affair. But then one day we were almost caught, and I forced myself to end it, for Kao Wei’s sake, because I feared Fang Min would kill him if he ever found out. A few weeks later, I realized I was pregnant with you, and I knew Kao Wei was the father.”

“Wait a minute. How did you know for sure he was the father?” Rachel asked, uncrossing her arms and leaning back against the window.

“Trust me, Rachel, I just knew.”

“But how? This was back before DNA testing.”

Kerry shifted in her chair awkwardly, searching for the right words to explain. “One of the reasons I had such a hard time getting pregnant was because Fang Min had peculiar habits, Rachel. Because of his drinking he had trouble getting erect, and when he was excited, he only liked to have a certain type of sex, and I knew I could not get pregnant that way.”

“Oh … oooh,” Rachel said, turning crimson when she realized what her mother meant.

“Anyway, you look so much like Kao Wei, there is no mistaking that he is your father. Kao Wei had beautiful, angular features like you do. And you have his refined lips.”

“So if you were in love with Kao Wei, why didn’t you just divorce Fang Min and marry Kao Wei? Why did you have to resort to kidnapping?” Rachel was leaning forward now with her chin in her hands, completely transfixed by her mother’s harrowing tale.

“Let me finish the story, Rachel, and then you will understand. So here I was, eighteen years old, married to this violent drunkard, and pregnant with another man’s child. I was so frightened that Fang Min would somehow realize the baby wasn’t his, and he would kill Kao Wei and me, so I tried to hide my pregnancy for as long as possible. But my old-fashioned mother-in-law recognized all the telltale signs, and it was she who declared to me a few weeks later that she thought I looked pregnant. At first, I was terrified, but you know what? The most unexpected thing happened. My in-laws were overjoyed that at last they were having their first grandchild. My evil mother-in-law suddenly transformed into the most caring person you could possibly imagine. She insisted that I move back into the big house so that the servants could look after me properly. I felt so relieved, like I had been rescued from hell. Even though I didn’t really need to, she forced me to stay in bed most of the time and made me drink these traditional brews all day long to boost the health of the baby. I had to take three types of ginseng every day, and eat young chicken in broth. I’m convinced this is why you were such a healthy baby, Rachel — you never got sick like other babies. No ear infections, no high fevers, nothing. At that time, there wasn’t a sonogram machine in Xiamen yet, so my mother-in-law invited a famous fortune-teller over, who divined that I was going to have a boy, and that the boy was going to grow up to become a great politician. This made my in-laws even more excited. They hired a special nursemaid to take care of me, a girl who had natural double eyelids and big eyes, because my mother-in-law believed that if I stared at this girl all day, my child would come out with double eyelids and big eyes. That’s what all the mothers in China wanted then — children with big, Western-style eyes. They painted a room bright blue and filled it up with baby furniture and all these boy clothes and toys. There were airplanes and train sets and toy soldiers — I had never seen so many toys in all my life.

“One night, my water broke and I went into labor. They rushed me to the hospital, and you were born a few hours later. It was an easy labor — I’ve always told you that — and at first I was worried they would see that you looked nothing like their son, but that turned out to be the least of my worries. You were a girl, and my in-laws were extremely shocked. They were outraged at the fortune-teller, but they were more outraged at me. I had failed them. I had failed to do my duty. Fang Min was also terribly upset, and if I hadn’t been living with my in-laws, I’m sure he would have beaten me half to death. Now, because of China’s one-child policy, all couples were banned from having a second child. By law, I could not have another, but my in-laws were desperate for a boy, a male heir who could carry on the family name. If we had lived in the countryside, they might have just abandoned or drowned the baby girl — don’t look so shocked, Rachel, it happened all the time — but we were living in Xiamen and the Zhous were an important local family. People already knew that a baby girl had been born, and it would have been disgraceful for them to reject you. However, there was one loophole to the one-child rule: if your baby had a handicap, you were allowed to have another.

“I didn’t know this, but even before I had come home from the hospital, my evil in-laws were already hatching a plan. My mother-in-law decided that the best thing to do was to pour acid in your eye—”

“WHAAAT?” Rachel shrieked.

Kerry swallowed hard, before continuing. “Yes, they wanted to blind you in one eye, and if they did this while you were a newborn, the cause of the blinding could look like it was just a birth defect.”

“My God!” Rachel clasped her hand to her mouth in horror.

“So she began to devise a scheme with some of the older servants, who were very loyal to her, but the special maid they had hired to take care of me while I was pregnant did not share the same unwavering loyalty. We had become friends, and when she found out about their plan, she told me about it on the very day I arrived home from the hospital with you. I was so shocked — I could not believe anyone could think of harming you in this way, much less your own grandparents! I was beside myself with rage and still weak from childbirth, but I was determined that nobody was going to blind you, nobody was going to hurt you. You were my beautiful baby girl, the baby from the man who rescued me. The man I truly loved.

“So a couple of days later, in the middle of lunch, I excused myself to go to the toilet. I walked down the hallway toward the downstairs toilet, which was across from the servants’ quarters, where you were being kept in a cot while the family ate. The servants were all having their lunch in the kitchen, so I went into their room, scooped you into my arms, and walked straight out the back door. I kept walking until I came to the bus stop, and I got on the next bus. I didn’t know any of the bus routes or anything — I just wanted to get as far away from the Zhou house as possible. When I thought I was far enough, I got off the bus and found a phone to call Kao Wei. I told him I had just had a baby and was running away from my husband, and he came to the rescue immediately. He hired a taxi — in those days it was very expensive to hire one, but somehow he managed — and came to pick me up.

“All that time, he was already devising a plan to get me out of Xiamen. He knew that my in-laws would have alerted the police as soon as they discovered that the baby was missing, and police would be searching for a woman and her baby. So he insisted on coming with me so that we could pretend to be a couple. We bought two tickets on the six o’clock train, which was the busiest train, and we sat in the most crowded car, trying to blend in with all the other families. Thank goodness no police ever came on board the train. Kao Wei took me all the way to my home village in Guangdong Province, and made sure I was safely with my parents before he left. That was the kind of man he was. I will always be glad that your real father was the one who rescued us, and that he at least had the chance to spend a few days with you.”

“But didn’t he mind leaving me?” Rachel asked, her eyes welling up with tears.

“He didn’t know you were his, Rachel.”

Rachel looked at her mother in shock. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Kerry sighed. “Kao Wei was already far too mixed up in my problems — the problems of another man’s wife. I didn’t want to burden him with the knowledge that you were his child. I knew he was the type of man who would have wanted to do the honorable thing, that he would have wanted to take care of us somehow. But he had a bright future ahead of him. He was very smart and was doing well at school in science. I knew he would get into university, and I didn’t want to ruin his future.”

“You don’t think he suspected he was my father?”

“I don’t think so. He was eighteen, remember, and I think at that age, fatherhood is the last thing on a boy’s mind. And besides, I was now a criminal, a kidnapper. So Kao Wei was worrying about us getting caught more than anything else. My awful husband and my in-laws used the situation to blame me for everything and plaster my name in all the newspapers. I don’t think they really cared about you — they were glad the baby girl was out of their lives — but they wanted to punish me. Usually the police didn’t get involved in family matters like this, but that politician uncle of Fang Min’s put pressure on the police, and they came looking for me in my parents’ village.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, they put my poor mother and father under house arrest and subjected them to weeks of interrogation. Meanwhile, I was already in hiding. Your grandparents sent me to a distant cousin of theirs in Shenzhen, a Chu, and through her, the opportunity came up for me to bring you to America. A Chu cousin in California had heard about my situation — your uncle Walt — and he offered to fund our way to America. He was the one who sponsored us, and that is how I came to change your name and my name to Chu.”

“What happened to your parents? My real grandparents? Are they still in Guangdong?” Rachel asked nervously, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

“No, they both died rather young — in their early sixties. The Zhou family used their influence to destroy your grandfather’s career, and it destroyed his health, from what I know. I was never able to see them, because I never dared to return to China or to try to make contact with them. If you had flown to China this morning to meet Zhou Fang Min, I would not have dared to follow you. That’s why when Nick found out about your China plans and told me, I flew straight to Singapore.”

“And what happened to Kao Wei?”

Kerry’s face clouded over. “I have no idea what happened to Kao Wei. For the first few years, I would send him letters and postcards from America as often as possible, from every town and city we lived in. I always used a secret name we had devised together, but I never got a single response. I don’t know if my letters ever got to him.”

“Aren’t you curious to find him?” Rachel asked, her voice cracking with emotion.

“I’ve tried my hardest not to look back, daughter. When I got on that plane with you to come to America, I knew I had to leave my past behind.”

Rachel turned to face the window, her chest heaving involuntarily. Kerry got up from her chair and walked toward Rachel slowly. She reached out to put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, but before she could, Rachel leaped up and embraced her mother. “Oh Mom,” Rachel cried, “I’m so sorry. So sorry for everything … for all the terrible things I said to you on the phone.”

“I know, Rachel.”

“I never knew … I never could have imagined what you were forced to go through.”

Kerry looked at her daughter affectionately, tears running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I never told you the truth. I wanted so much never to burden you with my mistakes.”

“Oh Mom,” Rachel sobbed, clinging to her mother ever more tightly.

The sun was setting over Bukit Timah by the time Rachel walked out into the garden, arm in arm with her mother. Heading slowly toward the poolside bar, they made a detour the long way around the pool so that Kerry could admire all of the golden statues.

“It looks like mother and daughter have reconciled, don’t you think?” Peik Lin said to Nick.

“Sure looks like it. I don’t see any blood or torn clothing.”

“There better not be. That’s Lanvin Rachel’s wearing. Cost me about seven K.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s guilty of being extravagant with her. She can’t blame it all on me anymore,” Nick said.

“Let me share a secret with you, Nick. As much as a girl might protest, you can never go wrong buying her a designer dress or a killer pair of shoes.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Nick smiled. “Well, I think I’d better be off.”

“Oh stop it, Nick. I’m sure Rachel would want to see you. And aren’t you dying to know what they’ve been talking about all this time?”

Rachel and her mother approached the bar. “Peik Lin, you look so cute standing there behind the bar! Can you make me a Singapore Sling?” Kerry asked.

Peik Lin gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “Um, I don’t know how to make that — I’ve never actually had one.”

“What? Isn’t it the most popular drink here?” Kerry said in surprise.

“Well, I guess if you’re a tourist.”

“I am a tourist!”

“Well, then, Mrs. Chu, why don’t you let me take you out for a Singapore Sling?”

“Okay, why not?” Kerry said excitedly. She placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Are you coming, Nick?”

“Um, I don’t know, Mrs. Chu …” Nick began, glancing nervously at Rachel.

Rachel hesitated for a moment before responding. “Come on, let’s all go.”

Nick’s face lit up. “Really? I do know a good place we could go.”

Soon the four of them were in Nick’s car, approaching the island’s most distinctive architectural landmark. “Wah, what an amazing building!” Kerry Chu said, gazing up in awe at the three soaring towers joined at the top by what appeared to be a huge park.

“That’s where we’re going. At the top is the world’s highest man-made park — fifty-seven stories above ground,” Nick said.

“You’re not seriously taking us to the SkyBar at Marina Bay Sands?” Peik Lin grimaced.

“Why not?” Nick asked.

“I thought we’d be going to Raffles Hotel, where the Singapore Sling was invented.”

“Raffles is too touristy.”

“And this isn’t? You’ll see, it’s going to be all Mainlanders and European tourists up there.”

“Trust me, the bartender is brilliant,” Nick declared authoritatively.

Ten minutes later, the four of them were sitting in a sleek white cabana in the middle of the two-and-a-half-acre terrace perched in the clouds. Samba music filled the air, and several feet away, an immense infinity pool spanned the length of the park.

“Cheers to Nick!” Rachel’s mother declared. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

“I’m so glad you like it, Mrs. Chu,” Nick said, peering around at the ladies.

“Well, I have to admit, this Singapore Sling is better than I imagined,” Peik Lin said, taking another sip of her frothy crimson drink.

“So you’re not going to cringe the next time some tourist sitting next to you orders one?” Nick said with a wink.

“Depends on how they’re dressed,” Peik Lin retorted.

For a few moments, they sat savoring the view. Across the bay, the blue hour was settling in, and the crowd of skyscrapers lining the marina seemed to glisten in the balmy air. Nick turned toward Rachel, his eyes searching out hers. She hadn’t spoken once since they left Peik Lin’s house. Their eyes met for a flash of a moment, before Rachel turned away.

Nick jumped off his bar stool and walked down a few steps toward the infinity pool. As he strolled along the water’s edge, a bold silhouette against the darkening sky, the women studied him in silence.

“He’s a good man, that Nick,” Kerry finally said to her daughter.

“I know,” Rachel said quietly.

“I’m so glad he came to see me,” Kerry said.

“Came to see you?” Rachel was confused.

“Of course. He showed up on my doorstep in Cupertino two days ago.”

Rachel stared at her mother, her eyes widening in amazement. Then she jumped off her bar stool and made a beeline toward Nick. He turned to face her just as she approached. Rachel slowed her pace, turning to look at a couple of swimmers doing disciplined laps around the pool.

“Those swimmers look like they might fall right off the horizon,” she said.

“They do, don’t they?”

Rachel took a slight breath. “Thank you for bringing my mom here.”

“No worries — she needed a good drink.”

“To Singapore, I mean.”

“Oh, it was the least I could do.”

Rachel looked at Nick tenderly. “I can’t believe you did this. I can’t believe you went halfway around the world and back for me in two days. What ever possessed you to do such a crazy thing?”

Nick flashed his trademark grin. “Well, you can thank a little bird for that.”

“A little bird?”

“Yes, a little blue jay that hates Damien Hirst.”

At the bar, Kerry was nibbling the pineapple wedge from her third cocktail when Peik Lin whispered excitedly, “Mrs. Chu, don’t turn around now, but I spy Nick giving Rachel a long, slow kiss!”

Kerry swiveled around joyously and sighed. “Aiyah, soooo romantic!”

“Alamak, don’t look! I told you not to look!” Peik Lin scolded.

When Nick and Rachel came back, Kerry scrutinized Nick up and down for a moment and yanked at his rumpled linen shirt. “Aiyah, you’ve lost too much weight. Your cheeks are so sallow. Let me fatten you up a bit. Can we go to one of those outdoor food bazaars that Singapore is so famous for? I want to eat a hundred sticks of satay while I am here.”

“Okay, let’s all go to the Chinatown food market on Smith Street,” Nick beamed.

“Alamak, Nick, Smith Street gets so crowded on Friday nights, and there’s never any place to sit,” Peik Lin complained. “Why don’t we go to Gluttons Bay?”

“I knew you were going to suggest that. All you princesses love to go there!”

“No, no, I just happen to think they have the best satay,” Peik Lin said defensively.

“Rubbish! Satay is the same wherever you go. I think Rachel’s mum would find Smith Street to be more colorful and authentic,” Nick argued.

“Authentic my foot, lah! If you really want authentic …” Peik Lin began.

Rachel glanced at her mother. “They can do all the arguing, we’ll just sit back and eat.”

“But why are they arguing so much over this?” Kerry asked, amazed.

Rachel rolled her eyes and smiled. “Let them be, Mom. Let them be. This is just how they all are.”