by Kevin Kwan
“You don’t say.”
“Yes, the entire watch is constructed to withstand forces up to ten thousand Gs. That’s equivalent to being strapped to the outside of a rocket while it’s breaking through the earth’s outer atmosphere.”
“But if you were actually exposed to such forces, wouldn’t you be dead?”
“Heh heh! Indeed. But just knowing your watch would survive makes it worth having a Plumper, doesn’t it? Here, I’ll let you try it on.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
Richie was momentarily distracted by a text message on his phone. “Wow, guess who just arrived? Mehmet Sabançi! That guy’s family basically owns all of Greece.”
“Turkey, actually,” Nick said almost reflexively.
“Oh, you’ve heard of him?”
“He’s one of my best friends.”
Richie looked momentarily shocked. “He is? How in the world do you know him?”
“We were at Stowe together.”
“You guys met at a ski resort?”
“Not Stowe, Vermont. Stowe—it’s a school in England.”
“Oh. I went to Harvard Business School.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that a number of times.”
Just then, Mehmet stepped out of the elevator and onto the terrace. Looking down at the late arrival, Richie said excitedly, “Whew—who is that spectacular babe he brought with him?”
Nick glanced down. “My God…I don’t believe it!”
• • •
On the main terrace, Carlton leaned against a railing alongside his Cambridge chum Harry Wentworth-Davies, surveying the scene. “You need to try these foie gras cronuts,” Harry yelled into his ear. “Better than crack cocaine. And I couldn’t believe that bloke on the telly who goes around the world terrorizing other people’s restaurants served it to me.”
“This is how Richie draws his crowd. Heaps of pretentious food and pricey booze,” Carlton said with barely veiled contempt.
“Quite right—this Romanée-Conti isn’t shabby at all,” Harry said, swirling his goblet.
“It’s a bit too obvious for me, but I will help to deplete as much of these reserves as I possibly can,” Carlton said.
“Not sure you want to get too sloshed tonight, mate,” Harry cautioned. “Shouldn’t you be in tip-top condition for the main event later?”
“Quite right. The smart thing to do would be to stop drinking now, wouldn’t it?” Carlton deliberated, before downing another glassful in several quick gulps. He scanned the crowd, recognizing most of Richie’s cronies who had gathered here. It was a wonder Colette didn’t suspect anything. He shouldn’t have come tonight. Being here—seeing everyone trying way too hard to have fun—only made him angrier, and he could feel the blood pounding in his temples. Four hours ago he was in Antwerp, and he wished he’d stayed there, or continued on to Brussels and caught the next flight back to Shanghai. Actually, what he really wanted to do was go to England, but Mr. Tin had advised him not to enter the UK for a few years. How did he ever fuck things up to this extent? To be banned from the one place where he felt like he could truly breathe?
“Colette’s looking rather spectacular,” Harry said to Carlton, eyeing her as she posed for a picture with Rachel by the pyramid of champagne glasses.
“She always does.”
“That girl she’s posing with looks rather like you.”
“That’s my sister,” Carlton replied. Rachel was the reason he had come back today. Part of him resented her for it, but he found himself strangely protective of her at the same time. He just couldn’t ditch her in Paris like that. It had been like this from the moment they met. He was all ready to hate her, this girl who had come out of nowhere and set off an atomic bomb in the midst of his family, but she had turned out to be nothing like what he had expected. She was different from all the other women in his life, and Nick was one of the few guys he could actually stand being around. What was it? he wondered. Was it that Nick had also gone to Stowe? Or was it the way Nick didn’t feel the need to vie for position with Richie like all the other party parasites here tonight?
“You never told me you had a sister,” Harry interrupted his thoughts again.
“I do. She’s quite a bit older, though.”
“You look like you could be twins. That’s the trouble with you chinks—you never bloody age.”
“We don’t for a while, but then there’s a tipping point where we go from looking twenty one night to two hundred the next morning.”
“Well, if they all look like your sister or Colette at first, sign me up. Now tell me, what’s the deal with you and Colette these days? One minute you’re on, one minute you’re off, I just can’t keep track anymore.”
“I can’t either,” Carlton said. He was so sick of the games Colette was playing. All week long, she had been dropping hints every time they passed by a jeweler. He knew that when he refused to go into Mauboussin with her on Tuesday, she had put Plan Richie into action and sent for him to come to Paris. She could be so fucking childish sometimes. As if having Richie here throwing her a party with his daddy’s dirty money was going to make him jealous.
Carlton felt Harry jabbing his ribs. “Hey, do you know that girl over there? White dress, nine o’clock.”
“Harry, someday you’re going to realize that not all Asians know each other.”
“You can’t blame me for getting excited—that’s quite possibly the fittest bird I’ve ever seen! I’m going in.”
“Race you there,” Carlton said. If Colette wanted to play games, he could play too. He gave his jacket lapel a tug, grabbed two glasses of wine from a passing server, and strode confidently across the terrace toward the girl in white. Just as he got to her, Nick suddenly cut in front of him and, to his astonishment, wrapped her in a warm embrace.
“Astrid! What the hell are you doing here?” Nick said excitedly.
“Nicky!” Astrid squealed. “But I thought you and Rachel were in China.”
“We were, but we flew to Paris on the spur of the moment with Rachel’s brother and some new friends. Oh, speak of the devil, here’s Carlton. Carlton, this is my cousin Astrid from Singapore.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Astrid extended her hand to Carlton, who was completely stunned by the sudden turn of events. This extraordinary creature he was about to hit on was Nick’s cousin?
“And this is my great friend, Mehmet,” Nick said, introducing Carlton. “You rascal—what are you doing hanging out with my cousin in Paris?”
Mehmet patted Nick on the back heartily. “It’s a complete coincidence! I’m here on business, and we ran into each other at Le Voltaire. I was sitting down at a lunch meeting and who should come through the door but Charlotte Gainsbourg…with Astrid! Of course I had to say hello—I couldn’t resist making all my associates sick with envy. Then Astrid invited me to dinner, and I talked her into making this pit stop.”
By this point, Rachel and Colette had joined the group. “Astrid! Mehmet? This can’t be happening!” Rachel shrieked, hugging both of them in utter delight.
Colette was introduced all around, and she couldn’t help but scrutinize every inch of Astrid. So this was the couture-wearing cousin that Rachel had told her about. Astrid’s sexy gold sandals she recognized as being handmade in Capri by Da Costanzo. Her white patent-leather clutch was vintage Courrèges. Her gold Etruscan-style cuff bracelet with the facing lion heads were Lalaounis. But that little white pleated dress she just couldn’t place. My God, it was perfection, the way the linen skimmed her body, just tight enough to drive all the men wild but not so tight it looked vulgar. And those sundial pleats at the neckline to accentuate the sensuality of the collarbone—pure genius. She just HAD to know who designed it.
“I am a fashion blogger—would you mind if I took a picture of you?” she asked.
“Col
ette’s being modest. She is THE most popular fashion blogger in China,” Nick bragged.
“Um, of course,” Astrid replied in surprise.
“Roxanne!” Colette yelled. Her trusty assistant came running over and snapped a few pictures of Colette and Astrid posing together. Then Roxanne began to take notes as Colette quizzed Astrid on everything she was wearing.
“Now, I just need some caption info. I recognize your shoes and your handbag, of course, and the bracelets are Lalaounis—”
“Actually, they’re not,” Astrid interrupted.
“Oh. Who did them?”
“They’re Etruscan.”
“I know, but who designed them?”
“I have no idea. They were made in 650 BC.”
Colette stared in wonder at the museum artifacts dangling so casually on Astrid’s wrists. Now she wanted some herself. “Okay then, most important, tell me which genius designed your fabulous dress. It’s Josep Font, isn’t it?”
“Oh, this? I bought it today at Zara.”
For the rest of her life, Roxanne would never forget the look on Colette’s face.
• • •
A few hours later, Rachel and Nick found themselves having a late supper with Astrid and Mehmet at Monsieur Bleu, the brasserie tucked away at the back of the Palais de Tokyo. As Rachel took the first bite of her sole meunière, she looked around the room, taking in the intriguing light fixtures, the marble-backed banquettes, and the shimmering bronze bas-reliefs. “Astrid, we’ve been eating at super-fancy places all week, but this is by far my favorite meal. Thanks for bringing us here.”
Mehmet chimed in. “I quite agree! There’s something about this place that manages to be simple and yet envelopingly luxurious at the same time. It doesn’t compete with the food, but one does feel more special just being here.”
Astrid smiled. “I’m so happy you all like it. I wanted to come here because I’m thinking of commissioning the architect of this space—Joseph Dirand—to build our next house. It’s actually why I came to Paris.”
“I can’t wait to see what he does for you,” Mehmet said.
“Didn’t you just move into a new house last year?” Nick asked.
“We did, but we’re quickly outgrowing it. We almost bought a historic Frank Brewer house on Cluny Park Road, but it fell through at the last minute. So we’ve decided to build on a piece of land I have in Bukit Timah.”
Nick looked around the table and chuckled. “I still can’t believe the four of us are here together. It’s such a small world!”
“And to think, I almost wanted to skip the party. But with my family doing business with the Yangs, I felt like I needed to show my face,” Mehmet said.
“I’m so glad we went,” Astrid said. “It was total serendipity! I’m just sorry your brother and his girlfriend couldn’t join us.”
“I think Carlton wanted to, but he felt obligated to stay at the party with Colette. And she couldn’t leave, being the guest of honor.”
“Colette’s quite a character. I’ve never had someone want to know about every single thing I’m wearing. I was half afraid she was going to end up asking what brand of underwear I had on.”
“She very well might have, if she hadn’t been so shocked that you bought your dress at Zara!” Rachel laughed.
“I don’t know why anyone would be shocked by that. I buy clothes everywhere—vintage shops, street vendors…”
“Colette and her friends live and breathe for high fashion. Frankly, I’ve hit my limit with them,” Nick admitted.
“It has been nonstop shopping since the minute we arrived. It was fascinating for the first couple of days, but then it just got tedious,” Rachel explained. “I don’t want to complain, since Colette’s been so generous with us, but I only came because I thought I’d get to spend more time with my brother.”
Astrid leaned closer in. “What’s it been like getting to know your new family?”
“Quite frustrating, actually. I’ve only managed to see my father once since arriving in China.”
“Only once?”
“We can’t quite figure out what’s happening, but we think it has something to do with my father’s wife. We haven’t met her at all since setting foot in China. Rather odd, don’t you think?”
“Maybe you should take a break from China and come down to Singapore for a week,” Astrid suggested.
Nick’s brow furrowed. It was already challenging enough getting Rachel through this trip with her family. He didn’t want to complicate things any further by going to Singapore and facing all those minefields. Where would he and Rachel even stay?
As if reading his mind, Astrid said, “You’re welcome to stay with me. Cassian would be thrilled to see you. As I’m sure many others will,” she couldn’t help adding.
Nick went quiet for a few moments, and Rachel didn’t know quite what to say.
“Or you two could always come back to Istanbul with me,” Mehmet said, breaking the awkward silence.
“Ohh! I would love to visit Istanbul!” Rachel said.
“It’s only three hours from Paris on my plane, and we’re having the most glorious weather this summer,” Mehmet said tantalizingly. “You should come too, Astrid. Come for a few days.”
• • •
After dinner, the four of them strolled leisurely along the terrace steps of the Palais de Tokyo leading up to avenue du Président Wilson. Rachel checked her phone and saw that Colette had left a number of text messages.
10:26 p.m.—Sat.
Is Carlton with you at restaurant?
10:57 p.m.—Sat.
If Carlton calls you, please let me know!
11:19 p.m.—Sat.
Never mind…found him.
11:47 p.m.—Sat.
Please call me ASAP.
12:28 a.m.—Sun.
URGENT!!! CALL ME PLEASE!!!
Rachel gasped upon reading the last message and immediately dialed Colette’s cell number.
“Hello?” a muffled-sounding voice answered.
“Colette? It’s Rachel. Is this Colette?”
“Rachel! Oh my God! Where have you been? Where are you?”
“What’s wrong, Colette? What happened?” Rachel said, alarmed by Colette’s near-hysterical tone.
“It’s Carlton…You must help me. Please.”
* * *
* An exceedingly rare Patek Philippe 18K gold single-button chronograph with a vertically positioned register and sector dial. Ref. 130, manufactured in 1928, given to Nick by his grandmother when he turned twenty-one.
18
THE SHANGRI-LA
PARIS, FRANCE
“Oh thank God you’re here! Thank God!” Colette cried as she opened the door, letting Rachel, Nick, Astrid, and Mehmet into her sprawling duplex suite. Rachel gave her a concerned hug, and Colette immediately broke down in sobs against her shoulder.
“Are you okay? Is Carlton okay?” Rachel asked, leading the suddenly fragile girl to the nearest sofa.
“Where’s everyone?” Nick asked, noticing that Colette was unusually sans entourage.
“I told everyone I was exhausted and sent them to their rooms. I couldn’t let them find out what was happening!”
“What is happening?” Rachel asked.
Trying to compose herself, Colette said, “Oh, it’s been terrible! Just terrible! After you guys left the party, this baby grand piano was wheeled out on the stage. Then John Major appeared and asked me to stand next to him while he serenaded me—”
“The former prime minister of Britain serenaded you?” Nick cut in, utterly bewildered.
“I’m sorry, I mean John Legend.”
“I’m so relieved,” Mehmet remarked drily to Astrid.
“So John began to sing ‘All of Me,’ ” Colette con
tinued tearfully, “and at the end of the song, Richie got onstage, dropped to his knees dramatically, and asked me to marry him.”
Rachel and Nick both gasped.
“He ambushed me right in front of everyone! Apparently my mother and the girls were in on this—that’s why so many friends from China showed up at the party. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there and noticed Gordon Ramsay over by the carrot truffle fries and all I could think was, What is Gordon going to think if I say no?”
“What did you do?” Rachel asked.
“I tried to laugh it off. I said, ‘Oh come on, Richie, this is a prank, right?’ And Richie said, ‘Does this look like a prank?’ He takes a velvet box out of his pocket and thrusts this ring in my face. I’m looking at it, this thirty-two-carat blue diamond from Repossi, and I’m thinking, AS IF I would ever wear a ring from Repossi! This man doesn’t know me, and I’m not in love with him. So I said, ‘I’m so honored, but you’re going to have to give me time.’ Richie said, ‘What do you mean give you time? We’ve been dating exclusively for three years now.’ And I said, ‘Come on, we haven’t exactly been exclusive,’ and all of a sudden Richie’s face got all twisted up and he began ranting, ‘What the hell do you mean by that? You’ve strung me along for three years now! I’m sick of waiting, and I’m sick of your games. Do you have any idea how much I’ve spent on tonight? Do you think John Legend flies to Paris for just anyone?’ Then suddenly Carlton, who had been standing right in front of the stage, hollered, ‘Hundan!*1 Can’t you get the message? SHE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU!’ And before I knew what was happening, Richie screamed ‘Nong sa bi suo luan!,’*2 leaped off the stage onto Carlton, and started punching him in the face!”
“Jesus! Is Carlton okay?” Rachel asked.
“He’s a bit battered, but he’s okay. Mario Batali, though—”
“What happened to Mario?” Astrid cut in, alarmed.
“As Carlton and Richie were rolling on the ground trying to kill each other, my bodyguards tried to get in there and break it up, but it just made things worse, because the four of them bashed into Mario’s food station, and this vat of olive oil where he was deep-frying the fritto misto got toppled over and burst into flames. The next thing you know Mario’s ponytail was on fire!”