by Kevin Kwan
“Oh, you’ve met her?” Kitty said excitedly, forgetting royal protocol again.
“Why yes. I gave her an audience at my palace in Perawak. What an accomplished woman, and what a voice! Now, tell me, Oliver, how has your dear grandmama been since I last saw her?”
“Her health is excellent, ma’am. But I must confess her spirits have been rather low lately. As you know, my great-aunt Su Yi’s passing has affected her greatly.”
Kitty, feeling bored, began to zone out on the photo of the sultana with Michelle Obama. She was trying to identify the designer of Michelle’s red dress. Was it Isabel Toledo or Jason Wu? She felt sorry for the First Lady—that poor woman was obligated to only wear American designers.
The sultana continued to speak. “Ah yes, it was such a beautiful funeral. Did you not enjoy my son’s eulogy to Su Yi?”
“It was remarkable. I did not know that the sultan spent a year living at Tyersall Park.”
“Yes, when he was doing a special course at the National University of Singapore, Su Yi was kind enough to host him. I’m afraid he found the Malay embassy accommodations to be lacking, and he was much more at home at Tyersall. You do know his great-grandfather was the sultan who originally built it?”
“Forgive me, ma’am, I had forgotten. No wonder he would feel a kinship to the place. If I might venture to ask, was Su Yi ever conferred with a title?”
Kitty’s ears suddenly pricked up.
“To my knowledge, she wasn’t. I believe in the 1970s the Agong*—whoever it was back then, I’ve lost track—tried to honor her, but she graciously turned it down. She was already Lady Young, and never even used that title. Alamak, what would Su Yi need a title for? There was never any doubt of her position. I mean, she already had Tyersall Park. What more do you need?”
“That’s quite true.” Oliver nodded, stirring his tea.
“Tell me, Oliver, what is going to happen to that spectacular palace now?” the sultana asked, her brow furrowing.
“Oh it’s anyone’s guess. My cousins are entertaining an avalanche of offers. Every day I hear there’s someone new coming in with an even higher bid. We’re in the billions now.”
“I’m not surprised at all. If I was younger, I might have considered it as a home in Singapore myself. Of course, it will never be the same without Su Yi, but whoever ends up living there will be tremendously fortunate.”
Oliver sighed dramatically. “Sadly, though, I don’t think that will happen. The house will surely be torn down.”
“Oh my goodness, how can that be?” The sultana placed her hand to her chest in shock, showing off her fifty-eight-carat blue diamond ring. Kitty’s eyes followed the solitaire like a cat distracted by a shiny toy.
“The land is far too valuable. All the developers that have put in bids have ambitious plans for Tyersall Park, and I don’t believe that would include the old house.”
“But what a travesty that would be! Tyersall Park is one of the most elegant estates in Southeast Asia. That rose garden, and the grand salon—such sophistication! Someone needs to rescue it from the greedy developers!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Oliver said.
Kitty listened to them with fascination. This was the first time she had heard anything about this old house.
“Well, Oliver, surely you know someone who will want to buy the estate and maintain it to the same standards as Su Yi did? What about that new Chinese duchess whatshername who’s moving to Singapore to save the chimpanzees? I met her at the funeral.”
Kitty looked up from her tea in alarm.
“Um, you’re referring to the Countess of Palliser?” Oliver said, glancing at Kitty uncomfortably.
“Yes, that one. Do you know her? She should buy the house. Then she would become the undisputed queen of Singapore!” the Dowager Sultana declared, popping another sweet coconut ball in her mouth.
—
After their audience with the sultana, Kitty remained silent during the helicopter ride back to Singapore. As she alighted from the chopper, she turned to Oliver and said, “This house the sultana was referring to, how much are we talking about?”
“Kitty, I know you heard what you heard, but the Dowager Sultana lives in a bit of a fantasy land. Colette would never buy Tyersall Park.”
“And why not?”
“I know my cousins—they would never sell the house to her.”
“Oh really? You said Colette would never be at your auntie’s funeral, and yet there she was. You said Colette wasn’t a threat, but then she bumped me off the cover of Tattle. I don’t think I can believe anything you say anymore.”
“All right, I’ll admit, I’m not the Oracle of Delphi. But there are some things that even Colette could not make happen. For one thing, there is no way she can afford that house.”
“Really? How much is it?”
“Well, I’m told the highest bid right now is four billion. And I know Colette doesn’t have that kind of money on her own.”
Kitty frowned. “She doesn’t, but she has a trust fund worth five billion. She can borrow against that trust if she really wants this house. And something tells me she does. She wants so desperately to be the queen of Singapore, queen of the fucking universe!”
“Look, Kitty, if it will stop you from losing your mind from this ridiculous rivalry, go ahead, try to buy the house. I’ll even go to my cousins with your offer for you. But just so you know, in order for the Youngs to regard your offer as serious, you’ve got to come in with a bid that wipes everything else off the table clean.”
“So we offer them five billion.”
“That’s not going to work. You have to realize something, Kitty: You are a Mainlander who’s married to a mogul with a very big but very new fortune. You haven’t yet gained the degree of respectability that these people value. If you want to steal Singapore’s most prized estate away from its snottiest family, you’ve got to do it in a big way. You need to shock and awe them with your money.”
“How much will that take?”
“Ten billion.”
Kitty inhaled deeply. “Okay then, offer them ten billion.”
Oliver was taken aback by how quickly she responded. “Are you serious? Don’t you need to talk to Jack first?”
“I’ll worry about my husband. You worry about getting me that house and you better get it before that little snake Colette comes around with her tongue out. If she steals this house from under my nose, I will never ever forgive you. And you know what that means,” Kitty warned, as she got in to her waiting car.
After waving her off, Oliver took out his cell phone and punched a number on his speed dial.
“Hallooooo?” a voice answered.
“It worked. It bloody worked.” Oliver sighed in relief.
“That Kitty girl is going to buy the house?”
“You better believe it. Auntie Zarah, I could kiss your feet.”
“I can’t believe it was that easy,” the Dowager Sultana of Perawak said.
“The minute you started talking about Tyersall Park, she forgot all about the stupid title. You were absolutely brilliant!”
“Was I?”
“I had no idea you could act like that!”
The Dowager Sultana giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh my goodness, I haven’t had this much fun in a long time! That ridiculously formal way you were speaking to me—‘If I might venture to ask’—hahahaha, you sounded like you were in a Jane Austen novel! I was biting my lip to stop from laughing. And oh, and I have a horrible neck ache now from wearing all those damn necklaces! I thought I was going to be strangled by diamonds, heeheeheeheehee!”
“If you hadn’t been dressed like that, Kitty would not have been in such awe of you. She’s been spoiled with jewels herself, so we really had to lay on the shock and awe.”
“Shock and awe indeed! Did you like what I had my guards chant before I made my grand entrance into the room?”
“Oh my God, I almost peed in my pants! I was thi
nking, why are they chanting the Singapore Children’s Day song?”
“Heeheehee! Remember when your mummy made you sing it to me one day when you came home from school? You were so proud to sing a song in Malay. Now, did you like my mention of China’s First Lady?”
“I did, I did. Very appropriate, Auntie Zarah.”
“I’ve never even met her, heeheeheehee!”
“You deserve an Oscar, Auntie Zarah. I owe you big-time.”
“Just send me a jar of those pineapple tarts that your cook makes, and we’ll call it even.”
“Auntie Zarah, you’re going to get a whole crate of those pineapple tarts.”
“Alamak, no! Please don’t! I’m on a diet! I was so nervous during my performance, I ate too many of those coconut puffs today, heeheeheehee. I have to force myself to go to my granddaughter’s zoomba class in the ballroom now!”
* * *
* The Yang di-Pertuan Agong, or Agong for short, is the monarch of Malaysia. The Nine Malay states each have their own hereditary rulers and royal families, and the Agong is elected from among these rulers every five years.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MACRITCHIE RESERVOIR, SINGAPORE
It had been a long, hot, mosquito-ridden hike, and as Carlton pounded his way up another sloping hill, he wondered what the hell he had been thinking when he suggested this plan to Scheherazade. His shirt was drenched in sweat, and he was certain that no amount of Serge Lutens cologne could mask how he smelled at this point. He turned around to check on Scheherazade and saw that she was crouched on the ground, staring at something. At a discreet distance, three of her bodyguards in jogging clothes stood watching them.
“Look! It’s a monitor lizard!” She pointed.
“He’s a pretty big fella,” Carlton said as he caught sight of the three-foot-long reptile resting under a clump of bushes.
“It’s a she, I believe,” Scheherazade corrected. “We had quite a big menagerie of pets when I was growing up. Reptiles were my thing.”
“This was in Surrey?”
“Actually, this was when we were in Bali. My family lived there for about three years when I was a little girl. I was a bit of a wild child then, going barefoot everywhere around the island.”
“That explains why you’re not even breaking a sweat right now,” Carlton said, trying his best not to stare too hard at her goddess-like physique shown off to perfection in her mesh paneled leggings and stretch knit sports bra.
“You know it’s funny—I never sweat. Ever. I’m told that Queen Elizabeth doesn’t either.”
“Well, you’re in good company,” Carlton remarked, as they finally arrived at the TreeTop Walk, a 250-meter suspension bridge that stretches from Bukit Peirce to Bukit Kalang, the two highest points of the preserve. As they traversed the narrow bridge, it began to sway slightly, but then the view opened up and suddenly it felt as though they were floating above the trees.
They reached the middle of the bridge and stood in silence for a while, taking in the remarkable view. The tropical-forest canopy stretched all around them as far as the eye could see, and the sounds of cackling birds echoed through the breeze.
“Unbelievable! Thanks for bringing me here,” Scheherazade said.
“It doesn’t feel like we’re in Singapore anymore, does it?”
“Sure doesn’t. This is the first place I’ve been to in a long while that’s reminded me of my childhood. I mean, it’s quite a relief to see that all this nature still exists here.” Scheherazade stared at the calm reservoir in the distance, the water glinting in the late-afternoon sun.
“Has the island changed that much? I only started coming here about five years ago.”
“Carlton, you can’t even imagine. Every time I’m back I hardly recognize it anymore. So much of the old atmosphere has just been wiped clean.”
“I guess that’s why you like living in Paris?”
“Partly. Paris is great because every street you walk down is like an unfolding novel. I actually love it because even though there’s history everywhere, it’s not my history. Does that make any sense?”
“Sure. Shanghai is my hometown, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Whenever I’m back it feels I can never escape my past. Everyone remembers everything about you—your family history, your mistakes,” Carlton said, his face clouding for a moment before he turned back to her. “But that’s not what you meant, was it?”
“Not really. For me, Paris is like neutral territory because it’s neither Singapore nor England. You know, even though I was born in Singapore and lived here until I was ten, I never felt like I truly belonged. Maybe it was because of how I looked—my hair was almost blond back then—it seemed like most people just assumed I was ang mor. And my mum inadvertently reinforced this by pretty much raising me as though I was British. Aside from my Chinese cousins, everyone else we knew was part of the British set. I don’t blame her at all—she felt awfully homesick and was overwhelmed at first by my father’s family. So we sort of existed in this English expat bubble, and for the first ten years of my life I went along thinking of myself as completely English.”
Carlton gave her a knowing smile. “Bit of a shock when you actually got to England, wasn’t it?”
“Uh-huh. When we finally moved to Surrey, I realized that the English didn’t really see me as I saw myself. I was this exotic, half-Chinese girl to them. So I felt like I was just absolutely screwed on both ends—I wasn’t Singaporean enough, but neither was I English enough.”
Carlton nodded in agreement. “I was sent away to school in England for most of my life, and now I can’t really relate to the Chinese back home. In Shanghai, I’m seen as too Westernized. Here in Singapore, I’m seen as an uncivilized Mainlander. But in London, even though I’m clearly an outsider, I feel like I can just be myself and no one’s judging my every move. I guess that’s what Paris does for you. You feel liberated.”
“Exactly!” Scheherazade said, flashing Carlton a smile so alluring, he had to stop himself from staring.
A group of men entered the bridge from the other end, and as they came closer Scheherazade couldn’t help but notice that they all looked Italian and were impeccably dressed in white jackets and bow ties.
“Looks like we’re being joined by extras from a Fellini movie,” Scheherazade joked.
“Yes, La Dolce Vita. And right on time,” Carlton said. The men began setting up an elaborate bar right in front of them, taking out a mixture of spirits, cocktail implements, and glassware.
“Did you arrange this?” Scheherazade asked wide-eyed.
“Well, I couldn’t take you on a sweltering sunset hike and not provide you with sunset drinks.”
Three of the men whipped out a bass, a saxophone, and a small drum set and began to play a Miles Davis tune.
“Can I offer you a Negroni, signora?” the bartender said, handing Scheherazade a highball glass filled with Campari, gin, and red vermouth over ice with an orange peel elaborately curled over the rim.
“Grazie mille,” Scheherazade replied.
“Salute!” Carlton said, clinking her glass with his Negroni.
“How in the world did you know this was my favorite drink?” Scheherazade asked as she sipped her aperitif.
“Um…I might have done some Instagram stalking.”
“But my Instagram account is locked.”
“Um…I might have been on Nick’s Instagram,” Carlton confessed.
Scheherazade laughed, utterly charmed.
Carlton looked in her eyes, and then glanced over her shoulder at her security guards loitering at the end of the bridge. “Would it be crazy if I kissed you? I mean, would your guards have me on the ground in under two seconds?”
“It would be crazy if you didn’t,” Scheherazade said, leaning in to kiss him.
After a long, lingering kiss, the two of them stood wrapped in each other’s arms in the middle of the bridge, watching as the setting sun glimmered over the treetops, casting a gl
ow of flaming amber over the horizon.
—
It was almost seven thirty by the time Carlton pulled up to the driveway of Scheherazade’s home. He didn’t want to drop her off just yet, and wished he could whisk her off to dinner and spend the whole evening with her. But his sense of decorum took over, and he wanted her to set the pace of how things should go.
Scheherazade smiled at him, and it was obvious that she didn’t want their date to end just yet either. “Why don’t you come up? My parents usually have drinks around this time.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Not at all. I think they’d like to meet you properly. They’ve been rather curious about you.”
“Well, if you don’t think I’m unpresentable right now in my soiled hiking gear.”
“Oh, you’re fine. It’s all very casual.”
Carlton handed off the keys to his vintage 1975 Toyota Land Cruiser to the valet in the driveway and they strolled through the elegant lobby of the sleek glass tower. For a family that arguably controlled the majority of the country’s GDP, the Shangs lived modestly when they were in Singapore. Alfred had long ago divested all of his landed properties on the island, but he had built this exceedingly discreet private apartment tower on Grange Road, where each of his children had been given several floors.
“Good evening, Miss Shang,” the guards at the reception desk said in unison. One of them escorted them to the elevators, reaching inside to enter a security code into a keypad. They zoomed up to the penthouse, and when the doors opened, Carlton could hear the murmur of voices just off the entrance foyer.
The two of them strolled into a circular, atrium-like sunken living room, and then Carlton stopped dead in his tracks. Standing in the middle of the room in a shimmering peacock blue cocktail dress was his ex-girlfriend Colette. He had not spoken to or seen her in almost two years, not since he discovered that she was responsible for poisoning Rachel.
“Oh hello. Looks like we have more guests than I thought,” Scheherazade said.