by Kevin Kwan
“You have to understand. This is one big village—everyone is always in everybody’s business. Plus, you have to admit it’s become much more intriguing now that we know that he’s Colin’s best friend. Anyway, you need to look fabulous tonight!”
“Hmmm … I don’t know. I don’t want to make the wrong impression, like I’m high maintenance or something.”
“Rachel, trust me, no one would ever accuse you of being high maintenance. I recognize the blouse you’re wearing—you bought that in college, didn’t you? Show me what else you brought. It’s your first time meeting the family, so we need to be really strategic about this.”
“Peik Lin, you’re beginning to stress me out! I’m sure his family will be just fine, and they won’t care what I’m wearing as long as I don’t show up naked.”
After multiple costume changes supervised by Peik Lin, Rachel decided to wear what she had been planning to wear in the first place—a long, sleeveless chocolate-colored linen dress with buttons down the front, a simple cinched belt made out of the same fabric, and a pair of low-heeled sandals. She put on a fun silver bracelet that wrapped around her wrist several times and wore the only expensive piece of jewelry she owned—Mikimoto pearl studs that her mother had given her when she got her doctorate.
“You look a bit like Katharine Hepburn on safari,” Peik Lin said. “Elegant, proper, but not trying too hard.”
“Hair up or down?” Rachel asked.
“Just leave it down. It’s a little sexier,” Peik Lin replied. “Come on, let’s go or you’ll be late.”
The girls soon found themselves winding along the leafy back roads behind the Botanic Gardens, searching for Tyersall Avenue. The driver said he had driven past the street before but now could not seem to find it. “It’s strange that the street doesn’t show up on the GPS,” Peik Lin said. “This is a very confusing area because it’s one of the few neighborhoods with these narrow lanes.”
The neighborhood took Rachel completely by surprise, as it was the first time she had seen such large, old houses on sprawling lawns. “Most of these street names sound so British. Napier Road, Cluny Road, Gallop Road …” Rachel commented.
“Well, this is where all the colonial British officials lived—it isn’t really a residential area. Most of these houses are government-owned and many are embassies, like that gray behemoth with the columns over there—that’s the Russian embassy. You know, Nick’s grandma must live in a government housing complex—that’s why I’ve never heard of it.”
The driver suddenly slowed down, and veered left at a fork in the road, heading down an even narrower lane. “Look, this is Tyersall Avenue, so the building must be off this road,” Peik Lin said. Huge trees with ancient, serpentine trunks rose up on both sides of the road, layered with the dense undergrowth of ferns belonging to the primeval rain forest that once covered the island. The road began to dip and curve to the right, and they suddenly noticed two white hexagonal pillars framing a low iron gate that had been painted pale gray. Tucked into the side of the road, almost hidden by the wild foliage, was a rusty sign that read TYERSALL PARK.
“I have never been down this street in my life. It’s so strange to have apartments here,” was all Peik Lin could say. “What do we do now? Do you want to call Nick?”
Before Rachel could answer, an Indian guard with a fierce-looking beard, wearing a crisp olive-green uniform and a bulky turban, appeared at the gates. Peik Lin’s driver slowly inched forward, lowering his window as the man approached. The guard peered into the car and said in perfect Queen’s English, “Miss Rachel Chu?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Rachel answered, waving from the backseat.
“Welcome, Miss Chu,” the guard said with a smile. “Keep following the road, and stay to your right,” he instructed the driver before he proceeded to open the gates and wave them along.
“Alamak, do you know who that man was?” Peik Lin’s Malay driver said, turning around with a slightly awed expression.
“Who?” Peik Lin asked.
“That was a Gurkha! They are the deadliest soldiers in the world. I used to see them all the time in Brunei. The Sultan of Brunei only uses Gurkhas as his private protection force. What is a Gurkha doing here?” The car continued on the road and wound up a slight hill, both sides of the driveway a dense wall of clipped hedges. As it turned up a gentle curve, they came upon another gate. This time it was a reinforced steel gate, with a modern guardhouse attached. Rachel could see two other Gurkha guards staring out the window as the imposing gate silently rolled to the side, revealing yet another long driveway, this one paved in gravel. As the car rolled along, its tires crunching against the loose gray pebbles, the thick greenery gave way to a handsome avenue of tall palms that bisected rolling parklands. There were perhaps thirty palm trees perfectly lined up along both sides of the driveway, and someone had carefully placed tall rectangular lanterns lit with candles under each palm, like glowing sentinels leading the way.
As the car headed up the driveway, Rachel looked out in wonder at the flickering lanterns and the vast manicured grounds around her. “What park is this?” she asked Peik Lin.
“I have no idea.”
“Is this all one housing development? It looks like we’re entering a Club Med resort.”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen a place like this in all of Singapore. It doesn’t even feel like we’re in Singapore anymore,” Peik Lin said in amazement. The whole landscape reminded her of the stately country estates she had visited in England, like Chatsworth or Blenheim Palace. As the car rounded one last curve, Rachel suddenly let out a gasp, grabbing Peik Lin’s arm. In the distance, a great house had come into view, ablaze with lights. As they got closer, the enormity of the place truly became evident. It wasn’t a house. It was more like a palace. The front driveway was lined with cars, almost all of which were large and European—Mercedes, Jaguars, Citroëns, Rolls-Royces, many with diplomatic medallions and flags. A cluster of chauffeurs loitered in a circle behind the cars, smoking. Waiting by the massive front doors in a white linen shirt and tan slacks, hair perfectly tousled and hands pensively shoved into his pockets, stood Nick.
“I feel like I’m dreaming. This can’t be real,” Peik Lin said.
“Oh Peik Lin, who are these people?” Rachel asked nervously.
For the first time in her life, Peik Lin was at a loss for words. She stared at Rachel with a sudden intensity, and then she said, almost in a whisper, “I have no idea who these people are. But I can tell you one thing—these people are richer than God.”
* * *
* Peranakan dessert cakes. These addictive, delicately flavored, and colorful kuehs, or cakes, usually made of rice flour and the distinctive pandan-leaf flavoring, are a beloved teatime staple in Singapore.
1
Astrid
SINGAPORE
Cassian was just being buttoned into his smart new Prussian-blue sailor suit when Astrid got a call from her husband.
“I have to work late and won’t make it in time for dinner at Ah Ma’s.”
“Really? Michael, you’ve worked late every single night this week,” Astrid said, trying to maintain a neutral tone.
“The whole team is staying late.”
“On a Friday night?” She didn’t mean to give away any indications of doubt, but the words came out before she could stop herself. Now that her eyes were wide open, the signs were all there—he had canceled on almost every family occasion over the past few months.
“Yes. I’ve told you before, this is how it is at a start-up,” Michael added warily.
Astrid wanted to call his bluff. “Well, why don’t you join us whenever you get off work? It’s probably going to be a late night. Ah Ma’s tan hua flowers are going to bloom tonight, and she’s invited some people over.”
“Even more reason for me not to be there. I’m going to be much too worn out.”
“Come on, it’s going to be a special occasion. You know it’s awfully g
ood luck to witness the flowers bloom, and it will be so much fun,” Astrid said, struggling to keep the tone light.
“I was there the last time they bloomed three years ago, and I just don’t think I can deal with a big crowd tonight.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s going to be that big a crowd.”
“You always say that and then we get there and it turns out to be a sit-down dinner for fifty, and some bloody MP is there, or there’s some other sideshow distraction,” Michael complained.
“That’s not true.”
“Come on lah, you know it’s true. Last time we had to sit through a whole piano recital by that Ling Ling guy.”
“Michael, it’s Lang Lang, and you’re probably the only person in the world who doesn’t appreciate a private concert by one of the world’s top pianists.”
“Well, it was damn lay chay,* especially on a Friday night when I’m exhausted from the long week.”
Astrid decided that it wasn’t worth pushing him any further. He obviously had a thousand ready excuses not to be at dinner. What was he really up to? Was the texting slut from Hong Kong suddenly in town? Was he going to hook up with her?
“Okay, I’ll tell the cook to make you something when you get home. What do you feel like eating?” she offered cheerily.
“No, no, don’t bother. I’m sure we’ll be ordering food here.”
A likely story. Astrid hung up the phone reluctantly. Where was he going to order the food? From room service at some cheap hotel in Geylang? There was no way he could meet this girl at a decent hotel—someone was bound to recognize him. She remembered a time not long ago when Michael would be so sweetly apologetic for missing any family occasion. He would say soothing things like, “Honey, I’m soooo sorry I can’t make it. Are you sure you’ll be okay going on your own?” But that gentler side of him had dissipated. When exactly did that happen? And why had it taken her so long to notice the signals?
Ever since that day at Stephen Chia Jewels, Astrid had experienced a catharsis of sorts. In some perverse way, she was relieved to have proof of her husband’s unfaithfulness. It was the uncertainty of it all—the cloak-and-dagger suspicions—that had been killing her. Now she could, as a psychologist might say, “learn to accept and learn to adapt.” She could concentrate on the bigger picture. Sooner or later the fling would be over and life would go on, as it did for the millions of wives who quietly endured their husbands’ infidelities since time immemorial.
There would be no need for fights, no hysterical confrontations. That would be much too cliché, even though every silly thing her husband had done could have come straight out of one of those “Is My Husband Cheating on Me?” quizzes from some cheesy women’s magazine: Has your husband been going on more business trips lately? Check. Are you making love less frequently? Check. Has your husband incurred mysterious expenses with no explanation? Double check. She could add a new line to the quiz: Is your husband getting text messages late at night from some girl proclaiming to miss his fat cock? CHECK. Astrid’s head was beginning to spin again. She could feel her blood pressure rise. She needed to sit down for a minute and take a few deep breaths. Why had she missed yoga all week, when she so badly needed to release the tension that had been building up? Stop. Stop. Stop. She needed to put all this out of her mind and just be in the moment. Right now, in this moment, she needed to get ready for Ah Ma’s party.
Astrid noticed her reflection in the glass coffee table and decided to change her outfit. She was wearing an old favorite—a gauzy black tunic dress by Ann Demeulemeester, but she felt like she needed to turn up the volume tonight. She was not going to let Michael’s absence ruin her night. She was not going to spend one more second thinking about where he could possibly be going, what he might or might not be doing. She was determined that this would be a magical night of wild blooming flowers under the stars, and that only good things would happen. Good things always happened at Ah Ma’s.
She went into the spare bedroom, which had basically become an extra closet for her overflow of clothes (and this didn’t even include the rooms upon rooms of clothes she still kept at her parents’ house). The space was filled with metal rolling racks on which garment bags of outfits had been meticulously organized by season and color, and Astrid had to move one of the racks into the hallway in order to fit comfortably into the room. This apartment was much too tiny for the family of three (four if you counted the nanny, Evangeline, who slept in Cassian’s room), but she had made the best of it for the sake of her husband.
Most of Astrid’s friends would have been utterly horrified to discover the conditions in which she lived. To the majority of Singaporeans, a spacious two-thousand-square-foot, three-bedroom condo with two and a half baths and a private balcony in District Nine would be a cherished luxury, but for Astrid, who had grown up in such palatial surroundings as her father’s stately house on Nassim Road, the modernist weekend beach bungalow in Tanah Merah, the vast family plantation in Kuantan, and her grandmother’s Tyersall Park estate, it was totally unfathomable.
As a wedding gift, her father had planned to commission an up-and-coming Brazilian architect to build the newlyweds a house in Bukit Timah on land that had already been deeded to Astrid, but Michael would have none of that. He was a proud man and insisted on living in a place that he could afford to purchase. “I am capable of providing for your daughter and our future family,” he had informed his stunned future father-in-law, who instead of being impressed by the gesture, found it rather foolhardy. How was this fellow ever going to afford the kind of place his daughter was accustomed to on his salary? Michael’s meager savings would barely even get them a down payment on a private flat, and Harry found it inconceivable that his daughter might live in government-subsidized housing. Why couldn’t they at the very least just move into one of the houses or luxury apartments that she already owned? But Michael was adamant that he and his wife begin their life on neutral territory. In the end, a compromise was struck and Michael agreed to let both Astrid and her father match what he was able to put in as a down payment. The combined amount allowed them a thirty-year fixed mortgage on this condo in an eighties-era apartment complex off Clemenceau Avenue.
As Astrid sifted through the racks, it suddenly, rather comically, occurred to her that the money she had spent on the couture outfits in this room alone could have paid for a house three times the size of this one. She wondered what Michael might think if he knew actually how many properties she already owned. Astrid’s parents bought their children houses in a way that other parents might buy theirs candy bars. Over the years, they had purchased so many houses for her that by the time she became Mrs. Michael Teo, she was already in possession of a staggering real estate portfolio. There was the bungalow off Dunearn Road, the house in Clementi and the semidetached on Chancery Lane, a row of historic Peranakan shop houses on Emerald Hill left to her by a great-aunt on the Leong side, and numerous other luxury condominiums scattered throughout the island.
And that was just in Singapore. There were land holdings in Malaysia; a flat in London that Charlie Wu had secretly bought for her; a house in Sydney’s exclusive Point Piper and another in Diamond Head, Honolulu; and recently, her mother had mentioned picking up a penthouse in some new tower in Shanghai under her name. (“I saw the special computer mirror in the closet that remembers everything you wear and immediately knew this place was for you,” Felicity had excitedly informed her.) Quite frankly, Astrid didn’t even bother trying to remember all of it; there were too many properties to keep track of.
It was all quite meaningless anyway, since aside from the shop houses on Emerald Hill and the London flat, none of the properties were truly hers—yet. This was all part of her parents’ wealth-succession strategy, and Astrid knew that as long as her parents were alive, she had no real control over the properties, though she benefited from the income derived from them. Twice a year, when the family sat down with their business managers at Leong Holdings, she would notice tha
t her personal accounts always increased in value, sometimes to an absurd degree, no matter how many couture dresses she had splurged on the previous season.
So what should she wear? Maybe it was time to bring out one of her latest Paris treats. She was going to wear her new embroidered Alexis Mabille white peasant blouse with the pearl-gray Lanvin cigarette pants and her new VBH earrings. The thing about those earrings was that they looked so over the top, everyone would think they were costume jewelry. They actually dressed down the whole outfit. Yes, she deserved to look this good. And now maybe she should also change Cassian’s outfit to complement hers.
“Evangeline, Evangeline,” she called out. “I want to change Cassian’s clothes. Let’s put him in that dove-gray jumper from Marie-Chantal.”
* * *
* Hokkien for “tedious.”
2
Rachel and Nick
TYERSALL PARK
As Peik Lin’s car approached the porte cochere of Tyersall Park, Nick bounded down the front steps toward them. “I was worried you’d gotten lost,” he said, opening the car door.
“We did get a bit lost, actually,” Rachel replied, getting out of the car and staring up at the majestic façade before her. Her stomach felt like it had been twisted in a vise, and she smoothed out the creases on her dress nervously. “Am I really late?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry, were my directions confusing?” Nick asked, peering into the car and smiling at Peik Lin. “Peik Lin—thanks so much for giving Rachel a lift.”
“Of course,” Peik Lin murmured, still rather stunned by her surroundings. She longed to get out of the car and explore this colossal estate, but something told her to remain in her seat. She paused for a moment, thinking Nick might invite her in for a drink, but no invitation seemed to be forthcoming. Finally she said as nonchalantly as possible, “This is quite a place—is it your grandmother’s?”
