by Kevin Kwan
“Oh, yes, we did. One of the girls even caught a bigger, endangered fish. We tried to convince her to put it back in the water, but she wouldn’t, and it ended up biting her very hard. There was blood squirting all over the place,” Francesca said, biting the head off her jumbo prawn and spitting it onto the side of the bowl.
“Serves her right, lah! Our oceans are getting so overfished, and we must respect all of God’s creatures,” Carol declared.
“Yes, I agree. You know, when you’re just a tourist, you need to learn to respect the environment you’re in,” Francesca said, glaring at Rachel for a split second before shifting her gaze onto Astrid. “Now Astrid, when can I get you to join one of my committees?”
“What sort of committees?” Astrid asked more out of politeness than any real curiosity.
“Take your pick—I’m on the boards of the Singapore History Museum, the Museum of Contemporary Arts, the Heritage Society, the Pulau Club, the Cultural Arts Advisory Board at SBC, the steering committee of Singapore Fashion Week, the Singapore Zoo, the Lee Kong Chian Natural History Museum’s Selection committee, the Wine Connoisseurs Society, Save the Shahtoosh, the junior committee of Christian Helpers, and, of course, the Shaw Foundation.”
“Well, my three-year-old boy keeps me pretty busy—” Astrid began.
“Once he’s in kindergarten and you have nothing to do, you really should consider joining one of my charities. I could fast-track you onto a committee. I think you’d be a natural.”
“So Rachel, I hear you teach at NYU with Nick?” Lorena cut in. This Francesca is getting on my nerves. We’re here to interrogate RACHEL, not Astrid.
“Yes, I do,” Rachel replied.
“Which department?” Nadine asked, fully knowing the answer, since Eleanor had read the entire dossier on Rachel Chu to all the ladies while they were getting hour-long reflexology massages in Shenzhen.
“I’m in the Department of Economics, and I teach at the under-grad level.”
“And how much do you get paid a year?” Nadine inquired.
Rachel was dumbstruck.
“Aiyah, Mummy, to Americans, it’s very rude to ask how much somebody makes,” Francesca said at last, clearly delighting in seeing Rachel squirm.
“Oh, is it? I was just curious to know how much a college teacher in America could possibly earn,” Nadine said in her most innocent tone.
“Would you ever consider working in Asia?” Daisy asked.
Rachel paused. It seemed like a pretty loaded question, and she figured that the group would dissect whatever answer she gave. “Of course, if the right opportunity came along,” she finally replied.
The ladies exchanged furtive looks, while Philip slurped on his soup.
After dinner, as the group adjourned to the living room for coffee and dessert, Astrid abruptly announced that she had to leave.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked. “You seem a little out of sorts tonight.”
“I’m fine … I just got a text from Evangeline that Cassian is staging a coup and refusing to sleep, so I better dash off.” In reality, Evangeline had informed her that Michael had stopped by and was reading Cassian a bedtime story. DO NOT LET HIM LEAVE, Astrid frantically texted back.
Nick and Rachel decided to seize this opportunity to make an exit as well, pleading fatigue from a long day of travel.
As soon as the elevator had closed on them, Eleanor announced, “Did you see the way that girl was staring at everything around the flat?”
“Darling, you’ve spent a year decorating. Of course people are going to stare—isn’t that the whole point?” Philip interjected as he helped himself to a large slice of chocolate banana cake.
“Philip, that little economist brain of hers was busy calculating the value of everything. You could see her adding everything up with her big bulging eyes. And all that talk about cooking for Nick. What rot! As if that’s going to impress me, knowing that she puts her rough peasant hands all over his food!”
“Well, you’re in fine form tonight, darling,” Philip said. “Frankly, I found her to be very pleasant, and her features quite nice.” He was careful to emphasize the word quite, knowing that his wife would fly into even more of a jealous fit at the thought of another woman in her vicinity being unequivocally proclaimed a beauty.
“I have to agree with Philip. She was really quite pretty. Whether you care to admit it, Eleanor, your son at least has good taste,” Daisy said, as she scrutinized the maid pouring her caffe latte.
“Really? You think she’s as pretty as Astrid?” Eleanor asked.
“Astrid is a sultry, tempestuous beauty. This one is totally different. She has a simpler, more placid beauty,” Daisy observed.
“But don’t you think she’s a little flat-chested?” Eleanor said.
Philip sighed. There was just no winning with his wife. “Well, good night everyone. It’s time for my CSI: Miami,” he said, getting up from the sofa and making a beeline for his media room. Francesca waited for him to round the corner before she spoke.
“Well, I for one think you are completely right about this girl, Auntie Elle. I spent the whole weekend with Rachel, and I saw her true colors. First of all, she picked out the most expensive dresses from the resort boutique when she found out that Araminta was paying. She was wearing one of them tonight.”
“That plain lilac dress? Alamak, she has no taste!” Nadine exclaimed.
Francesca continued her assault. “Then, she spent all of yesterday taking different classes at the resort—yoga, Pilates, Nia, you name it. It was as if she was trying to avoid us and get her money’s worth at the spa. And you should have heard her at dinner—she boldly announced that she went after Nicky because he is such a catch. Actually, I think her exact words were ‘he’s a TOTAL catch.’ ”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, can you imagine!” Nadine said, shuddering openly.
“LeaLea, what are you going to do now that you’ve met her?” Carol asked.
“I think this girl needs to be sent packing. All you have to do is say the word, Auntie Elle, and as I told you, it would be my pleasure to help,” Francesca said, giving Eleanor a meaningful look.
Eleanor took a few moments to answer, stirring her decaf cappuccino purposefully. She had been in a state of panic for weeks, but now that she had finally met this Rachel Chu, a preternatural calm had settled over her. She could see what needed to be done, and she knew she had to proceed covertly. She had witnessed firsthand the scars that blatant parental interference could inflict; why, even those assembled here were a reminder of that—Daisy’s relationship with her sons was tenuous at best, while Lorena’s eldest daughter no longer spoke to her after immigrating to Auckland with her Kiwi husband.
“Thank you, Francesca. You are always so helpful,” Eleanor finally said. “For now, I don’t think we need to do anything. We should all just sit back and watch, because things are about to get interesting.”
“You’re right, Elle—there’s no need to rush into anything. Besides, after Shenzhen, all the cards are in your hand,” Lorena said gleefully as she scraped away the frosting from her cake.
“What happened in Shenzhen?” Francesca asked eagerly.
Eleanor ignored Francesca’s question and smiled. “I might not even have to play the Shenzhen card. Let’s not forget, all the Youngs and the Shangs are about to descend on Singapore for the Khoo wedding.”
“Oh-ho! Who wants to bet she doesn’t even last through the weekend?” Nadine cackled.
* * *
* Mandarin for the little red packets of money that are given out by married adults and the elderly during Chinese New Year to children and unmarried young people as an act of well-wishing. Originally a token coin or several dollars, the hong bao in recent times has become a competitive sport, as wealthy Chinese strive to impress one another by giving ever larger sums. In the 1980s, $20 was considered customary and $50 was a big deal. T
hese days, $100 has become the minimum in all the best houses. Since it is considered impolite to open a hong bao in the presence of the giver, this has led to the phenomenon of little children running off to the bathroom immediately after receiving one so they can peek at how much they’ve scored.
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* 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 bef
ore 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?”