by Kevin Kwan
Carlton’s face suddenly went pale.
BAO RESIDENCE, SHANGHAI
THAT SAME EVENING
Bao Gaoliang and his wife were standing under the portico of their elegant garden mansion in the French Concession, waving goodbye to departing guests, when Carlton’s car came racing up the circular driveway.
“My goodness, the emperor has decided to grace us with his presence! To what do we owe this honor?” Shaoyen said sarcastically as Carlton walked up the stone steps toward them.
“I need to see you both in the library. Now!” he said through gritted teeth.
“Don’t speak to your mother in that tone!” Gaoliang chastised.
“What, you guys kissed and made up?” Carlton said, as he stormed into the house.
“We had a dinner for the Mongolian ambassador. Unlike you, your father and I still know how to be civil around each other when the occasion warrants it,” Shaoyen said, sinking into the tufted leather sofa and taking off her Zanotti heels with a sigh of relief.
Carlton shook his head in disgust. “I don’t know how you can sit there in that ball gown of yours, pretending that nothing’s wrong when you know very well what you’ve done!”
“What are you talking about?” Gaoliang asked wearily.
Carlton gave his mother a withering look. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Shaoyen said icily.
Carlton turned to his father, his eyes black with anger. “While you’ve been sitting in this house hosting a dinner party with your wife, your daughter—your flesh and blood—has been lying in a hospital in Hong Kong—”
“Rachel’s in the hospital?” Gaoliang interrupted.
“You haven’t heard? They had to airlift her from Hangzhou to Hong Kong.”
“What happened?” Gaoliang stared at Carlton in alarm.
“She was poisoned by someone. She was in the ICU for three days and almost died.”
Gaoliang’s jaw dropped. “Who would poison her?”
“I dunno…why don’t you ask Mother?”
Shaoyen bolted upright on the sofa. “Ni zai jiang shen me pi hua?* Did you stop taking your medication, Carlton? Is this some hallucination of yours?”
“I know you were just trying to send her a warning, but you almost killed her! I don’t understand you, Mother. How could you do something like that?” Carlton said, his eyes brimming with tears.
Shaoyen turned to her husband in astonishment. “Can you believe this? Our son is accusing me of being a murderer. How on earth do you think I had any part in this, Carlton?”
“I know precisely how you did it. Not you, of course, but one of your lackeys. Rachel was poisoned with Tarquinomid—which we so conveniently just started manufacturing for Opal Pharmaceuticals of Tel Aviv!”
“Oh my God,” Shaoyen said in a whisper, while Gaoliang looked stunned.
“You don’t think I keep up with what’s happening at the company? Well surprise, surprise, I do. I know all about that secret deal you made with Opal.”
“We have so many secret deals with companies all over the world. Yes, Opal outsourced Tarquinomid to us, but do you actually think I would poison Rachel? Why would I do that?”
Carlton looked at his mother accusingly. “Oh come on! You have been so hell-bent against Rachel since day one! Do I need to spell it out for you?”
Gaoliang spoke up, finally fed up with his son’s accusations. “Don’t be ridiculous, Carlton. SHE DID NOT POISON RACHEL! How dare you say such a thing about your own mother?”
“Dad, you don’t know half the things Mother has been telling me. If you could only hear what she’s said about Rachel!”
“Your mother may have issues with Rachel, but she would never do anything to harm her.”
Carlton started to laugh bitterly. “Oh, that’s what you think? You don’t have a clue what Mother is capable of, do you? Of course you don’t—you have no idea what she did in—”
“CARLTON,” Shaoyen said as a warning.
“What Mother did in London!”
“What are you talking about?” Gaoliang asked.
“The big cover-up in London…all to protect you.”
Shaoyen rushed up to her son and grabbed his shoulders in a panic. “SHUT UP, CARLTON!”
“NO! I WON’T SHUT UP! I’m sick of shutting up and not talking about it!” Carlton exploded.
“Then talk! What happened in London?” Gaoliang demanded.
“Please, Carlton, if you know what’s best for you, please don’t say any more,” Shaoyen pleaded frantically.
“A girl died in my car wreck!” Carlton spat out.
“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM! He’s drunk! He’s sick in the head!” Shaoyen screamed as she struggled to put her hands over Carlton’s mouth.
“What on earth are you talking about? I thought the girl was paralyzed,” Gaoliang said.
Carlton shook his mother off and ran to the other side of the room. “There were two girls in the Ferrari with me, Dad! One girl survived, but the other girl died. And Mother had it all covered up. She got Mr. Tin and your banker in Hong Kong to pay everyone off. She wanted you to remain blissfully ignorant about what happened—all to protect your precious position! She’s never allowed me to talk about it. She’s never wanted you to know what a fuckup I am. But I’m admitting it now, Dad—I killed a girl!”
Gaoliang stared at both of them in horror, as Shaoyen sank to the floor sobbing.
Carlton continued, “I will never forgive myself, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life. But I’m trying to take responsibility for what I’ve done, Dad. I can’t change the past, but I’m trying to change myself. Rachel helped me realize all this when we were in Paris. But Mother found out that Rachel knows this secret about my accident, and that’s the real reason she wanted her killed!”
“No, no! That’s not true!” Shaoyen cried.
“How do you feel now, Mother? The big secret is out, and your worst nightmare is coming true. Our family name will be ruined just like you thought it would—not by Rachel or by me, but when the police come and haul you off to jail!”
Carlton stormed out of the house, leaving his mother on the floor of the library and his father seated next to her with his head buried in his hands.
* * *
* Mandarin for “What the fuck are you saying?”
11
BUKIT BROWN CEMETERY
SINGAPORE
Every year, on the anniversary of their father’s death, Shang Su Yi and her brother, Alfred, would visit the grave where their parents were buried. Su Yi’s immediate family and a few close relatives would traditionally gather at Tyersall Park for breakfast before heading to the cemetery, but this year everyone met at Bukit Brown first. Astrid arrived early, coming straight from dropping Cassian off at Far Eastern Kindergarten, and hardly anyone was around as she strolled through Singapore’s oldest cemetery.
Since the cemetery had stopped accepting burials in 1970, the forest had grown unchecked around it, making this final resting place of Singapore’s founding fathers a lush, Edenic nature preserve for some of the rarest plants and wildlife on the island. Astrid loved meandering and admiring the ornate graves that were unlike anywhere else in the world. The larger, more ostentatious Chinese-style tombs were built into the sides of gentle sloping mounds, and some were as big as palace gatehouses, boasting their own tiled courtyards where mourners could gather, while others were decorated with colorful Peranakan tiles and life-size statues depicting Sikh guards, Quanyin, or other Chinese deities. Astrid began reading the gravestones, and every now and then, she recognized the name of a pioneer Singaporean: Tan Kheam Hock, Ong Sam Leong, Lee Choo Neo, Tan Ean Kiam, Chew Boon Lay. They were all here.
At precisely ten o’clock, a small convoy of cars invaded the quiet of the cem
etery. At the front was the 1990s-era Jaguar Vanden Plas ferrying Astrid’s mother, Felicity Leong—Su Yi’s eldest child—and her husband, Harry, followed by the small Kia Picanto driven by Astrid’s brother Henry Leong Jr.* Then came the vintage black-and-burgundy Daimler with Su Yi’s younger daughter, Victoria, who rode with Rosemary T’sien, Lillian May Tan, and the Bishop of Singapore. A few minutes later, a black Mercedes 600 Pullman with tinted windows pulled up, and before the humongous limousine had come to a full stop, the middle doors flung open and two Gurkha guards jumped out.
Alfred Shang, a short, portly man in his late seventies with a careful comb-over of gray hair, emerged from the car, squinting in the bright morning light even with his rimless sunglasses on. He helped his older sister, Su Yi, out of the car, followed by her two lady’s maids in elegant iridescent peacock-blue silk dresses. Su Yi was dressed in a cream-colored blouse, a thin saffron-colored cardigan, and light brown trousers. With her round tortoiseshell sunglasses, straw cloche hat, and brown suede gloves, she looked like she was ready for a day of gardening. Su Yi caught sight of Bishop See Bei Sien and muttered angrily to Alfred, “Victoria invited that busybody bishop again when I specifically told her not to! Father is going to spin in his grave!”
After a flurry of quick greetings, the family made their way along one of the more manicured paths, forming a rather stately procession as Su Yi led the way, walking under an embroidered yellow silk umbrella held by one of the Gurkha guards. The tomb of Shang Loong Ma was on the highest hill, a secluded spot completely encircled by a thicket of trees. The tombstone itself was not particularly monumental compared to some of the others, but the large circular plaza of glazed tiles and the exquisite bas-reliefs depicting a scene from The Romance of the Three Kingdoms on the tomb made it uniquely beautiful. Awaiting them at the grave were several Buddhist monks in dark brown robes, and in front of the plaza, a marquee had been set up with a long banquet table that gleamed with silver and the pale yellow nineteenth-century Wedgwood service that Su Yi always used for al fresco entertaining.
“Oh my goodness! Are we lunching here?” Lillian May Tan exclaimed, eyeing the fat suckling pig with a cherry in its mouth and the line of uniformed staff from Tyersall Park standing at attention beside the marquee.
“Yes, Mother thought it would be nice to eat here for a change,” Victoria said.
The family assembled in front of the gravestone, and the Buddhist monks began chanting. After they were finished, the bishop stepped up and said a short prayer for the souls of Shang Loong Ma and his wife, Wang Lan Yin, for even though they were never baptized, he hoped that their good deeds and contributions to Singapore would mean that they would not suffer from too much eternal damnation. Victoria nodded approvingly while he prayed, ignoring her mother’s daggerlike glare.
When the bishop had moved offstage, the Thai lady’s maids handed Su Yi and Alfred small silver buckets of soapy water and toothbrushes, and the two elderly Shang siblings approached the grave and began scrubbing the headstones. Astrid was always deeply moved by this simple gesture of filial piety, as her ninety-something-year-old grandmother got on her hands and knees and painstakingly cleaned the tiny crevices in an intricately carved tomb panel.
After the cleaning ritual was over, Su Yi placed a bouquet of her prized dendrobium orchids in front of her father’s headstone, while Alfred placed a vase of camellias next to his beloved mother’s. Then each of the family members took turns coming forward and placing offerings of fresh fruit and sweets by the grave. When the cornucopia of food had been laid out like a Caravaggio still life, the Buddhist monks lit joss sticks and said some final prayers.
The family then adjourned to lunch underneath the tent. As Alfred Shang passed Harry Leong on the way to the table, he took a folded piece of paper out of his trouser pocket and said, “Oh, here’s that info you wanted. What’s this all about? I had to twist a few more arms than I expected.”
“I’ll explain later. You’ll be at Tyersall for Friday night dinner, right?”
“Do I have a choice?” Alfred sniggered.
Harry sat down at the table and scanned the paper quickly. He then put it away and began digging into the first course of chilled mung bean soup.
“Now Astrid, I heard you were just in Paris. Was it as lovely as always?” Lillian May Tan asked.
“It was wonderful. The biggest surprise was running into Nicky.”
“Nicky! Really? I haven’t seen him in ages!”
Astrid glanced a few paces down to make sure her grandmother was safely out of earshot. “Yes, he was there with Rachel, and we had a rather exciting evening together.”
“Tell me, what’s his new wife like?” Lillian May asked in a lowered voice.
“You know, I really like Rachel. Even if she wasn’t married to Nicky, she’s the sort of person I would definitely be friends with. She’s quite—”
Just then, Astrid felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder. It was one of Su Yi’s lady’s maids, who whispered, “Your grandmother wants you to stop talking about Nicholas right now or leave her table.”
• • •
After the luncheon, as everyone made their way back to the cars, Harry walked alongside Astrid and asked, “Do you keep up with that Charlie Wu?”
“I do from time to time—why?”
“Uncle Alfred just supplied me with the most intriguing tidbit. You know how you asked the other day if I acquired Michael’s first company? I decided to dig deeper, since it did always strike me as odd how he was able to sell that company for so much money.”
“Oh, did Charlie lend you a hand?”
“No, Astrid—Charlie was the one who bought the company.”
Astrid stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re joking, right?”
“Not at all. The real joke is Charlie Wu secretly paying three hundred million dollars for a tiny tech start-up.”
“Dad, are you absolutely sure about this?”
Harry took out the piece of paper and showed it to Astrid. “Listen, this was really tough info to come by. Even our top finance guys turned up nothing but dead ends, so I had to ask Uncle Alfred to help, and you know he is never wrong. Charlie obviously went to great lengths to hide his ownership in a complex web of shell corporations, but you can see the proof in this document as clear as day. Now, what is he plotting at? That’s what I want to know.”
Astrid stared at the paper in disbelief. “Dad, do me a favor—please don’t mention a word of this to Michael or anyone else until I find out more.”
After everyone had departed, Astrid remained at the cemetery. She sat in her car with the air-conditioning on full blast for a few minutes, preparing to leave, but then she turned off the engine and got out. She needed to walk a bit. Her head was spinning, and she desperately needed to make sense of the startling news she had just learned. Why in the world had Charlie bought her husband’s company? And why had he never told her? Did Charlie and Michael have some secret agreement all along? Or was there a darker scheme that she couldn’t even begin to fathom? She didn’t know what to think, but she couldn’t help feeling strangely betrayed by Charlie. She had poured out her heart and soul to him, and he had deceived her. Could she ever trust him again?
Astrid wandered down an overgrown path into a deeper part of the woods, passing long creepers dangling from the limbs of towering rain trees and old graves covered in moss. Birds cackled loudly in the trees overhead, and small butterflies darted in and out of gigantic ferns. Finally she could breathe again. She felt totally at ease in these woods—they were almost the same as the woods she had spent her childhood playing in at Tyersall Park. At a clearing where rays of sunlight filtered through the verdant foliage, Astrid came upon a small gravestone nestled by the sprawling roots of a large banyan tree. There was a distinctive sculpture of a cherubic angel crouched on top of the tomb, its huge wings unfurled and arching all the way over its head. A ti
ny oval sepiatoned portrait of an earnest-looking little boy dressed in a white suit was centered behind glass on the headstone. He would have been around Cassian’s age when he died. There was something so tragic and yet beautiful about that gravestone, and Astrid was reminded of the graves at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris.
On one of their frequent trips back when they were living in London during their university days, Charlie had shown her the tomb of Abelard and Héloïse. When they finally arrived at the grand tomb, they found it strewn with love letters, and Charlie explained: “Abelard was a great philosopher in the twelfth century who was hired to teach Héloïse, a young noble woman who was the niece of Notre Dame’s Canon Fulbert. They fell in love and had an affair, which led to Héloïse becoming pregnant and the two of them getting married in secret. When Héloïse’s uncle discovered the affair, he had Abelard castrated and Héloïse sent to a nunnery. They could never see each other again, but they sent each other passionate letters for the rest of their lives, letters that have become among the most famous in history. The bones of the lovers were finally reunited here in 1817, and ever since, lovers from all over the world have been leaving letters on this tomb.”
“Ohh—how romantic!” Astrid sighed. “Will you promise you’ll never stop sending me love letters?”
Charlie kissed her hands and declared, “I promise I will never stop sending you letters of love, Astrid. Until my dying day.”
As Astrid stood alone in the middle of the forest recalling his words, it was as if she could suddenly hear the trees speaking to her. In the deepest hollows of bark, in the rustling of leaves, she could hear them whisper, He did it out of love, he did it out of love. And suddenly it all became so clear. Charlie had bought Michael’s company to help save her marriage. He had overpaid by hundreds of millions because he wanted Michael to have a fortune of his own, to give him a chance to overcome his feelings of inadequacy. It was an act of pure, unselfish love. Everything Charlie had done three years ago began to make sense now—advising her to wait at least a year before agreeing to a divorce, telling her, I have a feeling Michael could have a change of heart. Michael did have a change of heart, but not in the way that anyone could have anticipated. He had transformed into a completely unrecognizable man. The modest, unassuming soldier had become a brash, maniacal billionaire. And he wanted her to become a different type of wife to match him. Astrid realized how much she had struggled to change for Michael, and how much she no longer wanted to. What she truly wanted, what she had always wanted but failed to realize until this moment, was someone who loved her just the way she was. Someone like Charlie. Oh, Charlie. In another lifetime they could have been happy together. If only she hadn’t broken his heart the first time. If only she had been stronger and stood up to her parents the first time. If only he wasn’t married with two beautiful kids of his own. If only.