by Kevin Kwan
“That’s the wife of the president. She was born a Wong. The Wongs were saved by Su Yi’s family during World War II, so they have always gone to great lengths to show their respect.”
Rachel gazed at Nick’s cousin and grandmother with renewed wonder, both so striking as they made their stately procession up the aisle. Astrid looked immaculately chic in a Majorelle-blue sleeveless halter-neck dress with gold cuff bracelets on both arms dramatically stacked all the way up to her elbows. Shang Su Yi was resplendent in a robe-like dress of pale violet that possessed the most distinctive gossamer sheen. “Nick’s grandmother looks amazing. That dress …”
“Ah yes, that’s one of her fabulous lotus-fabric dresses,” Oliver said.
“As in lotus flowers?” Rachel asked, to clarify.
“Yes, from the stem of the lotus flower, actually. It’s an extremely rare fabric that’s handwoven in Myanmar, and normally available only for the most high-ranking monks. I’m told that it feels incredibly light and has an extraordinary ability to keep cool in the hottest climates.”
As they approached, Su Yi was swarmed by her daughters.
“Mummy! Are you feeling okay?” Felicity asked in a worried tone.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Victoria snapped.
“Hiyah, we would have waited for you,” Alexandra said excitedly.
Su Yi waved away all the fuss. “Astrid convinced me at the last minute. She reminded me that I wouldn’t want to miss seeing Nicky as a best man.”
As she uttered those words, two trumpeters appeared at the foot of the altar to herald the arrival of the groom. Colin entered the main sanctuary from a side alcove, accompanied by Nick, Lionel Khoo, and Mehmet Sabançi, all in dark gray morning suits and silvery blue ties. Rachel couldn’t help but swell up with pride—Nick looked so dashing standing by the altar.
The lights in the sanctuary dimmed, and through a side door appeared a crowd of blond boys dressed in faun-like costumes of wispy white linen. Each rosy-cheeked boy clutched a glass jar filled with fireflies, and as more and more towheaded boys emerged to form two lines along both sides of the church sanctuary, Rachel realized there had to be at least a hundred of them. Illuminated by the flickering lights from their jars, the boys began to sing the classic English song “My True Love Hath My Heart.”
“I don’t believe it—it’s the Vienna Boys’ Choir! They flew in the fucking Vienna Boys’ Choir!” Oliver exclaimed.
“Aiyah, what sweet little angels,” Nancy gasped, overcome with emotion by the haunting alto voices. “It reminds me of the time King Hassan of Morocco invited us to his fort in the High Atlas Mountains—”
“Oh, do shut up!” Victoria said sharply, wiping tears from her eyes.
When the song ended, the orchestra, hidden in the transept, launched into the majestic strains of Michael Nyman’s “Prospero’s Magic” as sixteen bridesmaids in pearl-gray duchesse satin gowns entered the church, each holding an enormous curved branch of cherry blossom. Rachel recognized Francesca Shaw, Wandi Meggaharto, and a teary-eyed Sophie Khoo among them. The bridesmaids marched in choreographed precision, breaking off in pairs at different intervals so that they were spaced equally apart along the length of the aisle.
After the processional anthem, a young man in white tie stepped up to the altar with a violin in his hand. More murmurs of excitement filled the church as people realized that it was none other than Charlie Siem, the virtuoso violinist with matinee-idol looks. Siem began to play the first familiar chords of “Theme from Out of Africa,” and sighs of delight could be heard from the audience. Oliver noted, “It’s all about that chin, isn’t it, clenched against the violin as if he’s making savage love to it. That marvelous chin is what’s making all the ladies cream their knickers.”
The bridesmaids lifted their branches of cherry blossom high into the air, forming eight floral arches leading up to the altar, and the front doors of the church flung open dramatically. The bride appeared at the threshold, and there was a collective gasp from the crowd. For months magazine editors, gossip columnists, and fashion bloggers had speculated wildly over who might be designing Araminta’s dress. Since she was both a celebrated model and one of Asia’s budding fashion icons, expectations were high that she would wear a dress made by some avant-garde designer. But Araminta surprised everyone.
She walked down the aisle on her father’s arm in a classically inspired wedding dress designed by Valentino, whom she lured out of retirement to make precisely the sort of gown that generations of European princesses had gotten married in, the sort of gown that would make her look every inch the proper young wife from a very traditional, old-money Asian family. Valentino’s creation for Araminta featured a fitted high-necked lace bodice with long sleeves, a full skirt of overlapping lace and silk panels that unfurled like the petals of a peony as she moved, and a fifteen-foot train. (Giancarlo Giametti would later inform the press that the train, embroidered with ten thousand seed pearls and silver thread, took a team of twelve seamstresses nine months to sew and featured a pattern replicating the train Consuelo Vanderbilt wore when she fatefully wed the Duke of Marlborough in 1895.) Yet even in its baroque detail, the wedding gown did not overpower Araminta. Rather, it was the perfect extravagant foil against the stark minimalist wonderland her mother had so painstakingly created. Clutching a simple bouquet of stephanotis, with only a pair of antique pearl-drop earrings, the slightest hint of makeup, and her hair in a loose chignon adorned with nothing but a circlet of white narcissus, Araminta looked like a Pre-Raphaelite maiden floating through a sun-dappled forest.
From her seat in the front row, Annabel Lee, exultant in an Alexander McQueen dress of chiffon and gold lace, surveyed the faultlessly executed wedding procession and reveled in her family’s social triumph.
Across the aisle, Astrid sat listening to the violin solo, relieved that her plan had worked. In the excitement over her grandmother’s arrival, no one noticed that her husband was missing.
Sitting in his row, Eddie obsessed over which uncle could best introduce him to the chairman of the China Investment Corporation.
Standing by the altar, Colin gazed at the ravishing bride coming toward him, realizing that all the pain and fuss over the past few months had been worth it. “I can hardly believe it, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” he whispered to his best man.
Nick, moved by Colin’s reaction, searched the crowd for Rachel’s face. Where was she? Oh, there she was, looking more gorgeous than she’d ever looked. Nick knew at that very moment that he wanted more than anything to see Rachel walk up that same aisle toward him in a white gown.
Rachel, who had been staring at the bridal procession, turned toward the altar and noticed Nick gazing intently at her. She gave him a little wink.
“I love you,” Nick mouthed back to her.
Eleanor, witnessing this exchange, realized there was no more time to lose.
Araminta glided up the aisle, sneaking occasional peeks at her guests through her veil. She recognized friends, relatives, and many people she had only seen on television. Then she caught sight of Astrid. Imagine, Astrid Leong was at her wedding, and now they would be related through marriage. But wait a minute, that dress Astrid was wearing … wasn’t that the same blue Gaultier she had worn to Carol Tai’s Christian Helpers fashion benefit two months ago? As Araminta reached the altar where her future husband awaited, with the Bishop of Singapore in front of her and the most important people in Asia behind her, one thought alone crossed her mind: Astrid Leong, that damn bitch, couldn’t even be bothered to wear a new dress to her wedding.
* * *
* The number eight is considered by the Chinese to be an extremely lucky number, since in both Mandarin and Cantonese it sounds similar to the word for prosperity or fortune. Triple-eight means triple the luck.
† Malay for “shameful,” “embarrassing.”
5
Fort Canning Park
SINGAPORE
> As the wedding guests began filtering into the park behind First Methodist Church for the reception, more gasps of astonishment could be heard.
“What now?” Victoria grumbled. “I’m so tired of all this ‘oohing’ and ‘aiyahing’—I keep thinking somebody is going into cardiac arrest!” But as Victoria passed through the gates at Canning Rise, even she was momentarily silenced by the sight of the great lawn. In stark contrast to the church, the wedding reception looked like an atomic explosion of flowers. Thirty-foot-tall topiaries in gigantic pots and colossal spirals of pink roses encircled the field, where dozens of whimsical gazebos festooned in striped pastel taffeta had been built. In the center, an immense teapot spouted a waterfall of bubbly champagne into a cup the size of a small swimming pool, and a full string ensemble performed on what appeared to be a giant revolving Wedgwood plate. The scale of everything made the guests feel as if they had been transported to a tea party for giants.
“Alamak, someone pinch me!” Puan Sri Mavis Oon exclaimed as she caught sight of the food pavilions, where waiters in powdered white wigs and Tiffany-blue frock coats stood at tables piled mountain-high with sweets and savories.
Oliver escorted Rachel and Cassandra onto the great lawn. “I’m a bit confused—is this supposed to be the Mad Hatter’s tea party or Marie Antoinette on a bad acid trip?”
“Looks like a combination of both,” Rachel remarked.
“Now what do you suppose they’re going to do with all these flowers once the reception ends?” Oliver wondered.
Cassandra stared up at the towering cascade of roses. “In this heat, they will all be rotten within three hours! I’m told the price of roses spiked to an all-time high this week at the Aalsmeer Flower Auction. Annabel bought up all the roses on the world market and had them flown in from Holland on a 747 freighter.”
Rachel looked around at the guests parading the floral wonderland in their festive hats, their jewels glinting in the afternoon sun, and shook her head in disbelief.
“Ollie, how much did you say these Mainlanders spent?” Cassandra asked.
“Forty million, and for heaven’s sake, Cassandra, the Lees have lived in Singapore for decades now. You need to stop calling them Mainlanders.”
“Well, they still behave like Mainlanders, as this ridiculous reception proves. Forty million—I just don’t see where all the money went.”
“Well I’ve been keeping a tally, and I’m only up to five or six million so far. God help us, I think the motherlode is being spent on tonight’s ball,” Oliver surmised.
“I can’t imagine how they’re going to top this,” Rachel said.
“Refreshments, anyone?” a voice behind her said. Rachel turned around to see Nick holding two glasses of champagne.
“Nick!” she cried excitedly.
“What did you all think of the wedding ceremony?” Nick asked, gallantly handing drinks to the ladies.
“Wedding? I could have sworn it was a coronation,” Oliver retorted. “Anyway, who cares about the ceremony? The important question is: What did everyone think of Araminta’s dress?”
“It was lovely. It looked deceptively simple, but the longer you stared at it, the more you noticed the details,” Rachel offered.
“Ugh. It was awful. She looked like some kind of medieval bride,” Cassandra sniggered.
“That was the point, Cassandra. I thought the dress was a triumph. Valentino at his best, channeling Botticelli’s Primavera and Marie de’ Medici’s arrival in Marseilles.”
“I have no idea what you just said, Ollie, but I agree.” Nick laughed.
“You looked so serious up there at the altar,” Rachel remarked.
“It was very serious business! Speaking of which, I’m going to steal Rachel away for a moment,” Nick said to his cousins, grasping Rachel’s hand.
“Hey—there are children around. No hanky-panky in the bushes!” Oliver warned.
“Alamak, Ollie, with Kitty Pong here, I don’t think Nicky’s the one we need to worry about,” Cassandra said drily.
Kitty stood in the middle of the great lawn, staring in wonder at everything around her. Here at last was something worth getting excited about! Her trip to Singapore so far had been nothing but a series of disappointments. First of all, they were staying at that cool new hotel with the huge park on the roof, but all the suites were booked up and they were stuck in a lousy regular room. And then there was Alistair’s family, who clearly weren’t as rich as she had been led to believe. Alistair’s auntie Felicity lived in an old wooden house with old Chinese furniture that wasn’t even polished properly. They were nothing compared to the rich families she knew in China, who lived in huge newly built mansions decorated by the top designers from Paris France. Then there was Alistair’s mother, who looked like one of those dowdy Family Planning Commission workers who used to come to her village in Qinghai to give advice about birth control. At last they were finally at this fairy-tale wedding reception, where she could be surrounded by the crème de la crème of society.
“Isn’t that fellow in the bow tie the chief executive of Hong Kong?” Kitty whispered loudly to Alistair.
“Yes, I believe it is,” Alistair answered.
“Do you know him?”
“I’ve met him once or twice—my parents know him.”
“Really? Where are your parents, by the way? They disappeared so quickly after the wedding, I didn’t even get a chance to say hi,” Kitty said with a little pout.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. My dad’s right there piling his plate with langoustines, and my mum is over in that purple-striped gazebo with my grandmother.”
“Oh, your Ah Ma is here?” Kitty said, peering at the gazebo. “There are so many old ladies in there—which one is she?”
Alistair pointed her out.
“Who is that woman talking to her right now? The one in the yellow head scarf, covered head to toe in diamonds!”
“Oh, that’s one of my Ah Ma’s old friends. I think she’s some sort of Malay princess.”
“Oooh, a princess? Take me to meet her now!” Kitty insisted, dragging Alistair away from the dessert tent.
In the gazebo, Alexandra noticed her son and that strumpet (she refused to call her his fiancée) walking intently toward her. Hiyah, were they actually on their way here? Did Alistair not have the sense to keep Kitty away from his grandmother, especially when she was receiving Mrs. Lee Yong Chien and the Sultana of Borneo?
“Astrid, it’s getting a bit crowded. Will you please tell the sultana’s bodyguards to make sure no one else is allowed in?” she whispered to her niece, her eyes darting frantically at Alistair and Kitty.
“Of course, Auntie Alix,” Astrid said.
As Alistair and Kitty approached the gazebo, three guards in crisp military dress uniforms blocked the steps in front of it. “Sorry, no more people allowed in,” a guard announced.
“Oh, but my family’s in there. That’s my mother and grandmother.” Alistair pointed, peering over the guard’s shoulder. He tried to catch his mother’s eye, but she seemed to be engrossed in conversation with her cousin Cassandra.
“Yoohoo!” Kitty cried out. She took off her huge polka-dotted straw hat and began waving it excitedly, jumping up and down. “Yoohoo, Mrs. Cheng!”
Alistair’s grandmother peered out and asked, “Who is that girl jumping about?”
Alexandra wished at that moment she had put an end to her son’s ridiculous romance when she’d had the chance.
“It’s nobody. Just someone trying to get a glimpse of Her Royal Highness,” Astrid cut in, gesturing toward the sultana.
“Is that Alistair with the jumping girl?” Su Yi asked, squinting her eyes.
“Trust me, Mummy, just ignore them,” Alexandra whispered nervously.
Cassandra decided that it would be far more amusing to throw a wrench into this little charade. “Aiyah, Koo Por,* that’s Alistair’s new girlfriend,” she said mischievously, as Alexandra glared at her
in exasperation.
“The Hong Kong starlet you were telling me about, Cassandra? Let her in—I want to meet her,” Su Yi said. She turned to Mrs. Lee Yong Chien with a gleam in her eye. “My youngest grandson is dating some Hong Kong soap-opera actress.”
“An actress?” Mrs. Lee made a face, as Alistair and Kitty were allowed into the gazebo.
“Ah Ma, I want you to meet my fiancée, Kitty Pong,” Alistair boldly announced in Cantonese.
“Your fiancée? Nobody told me you got engaged,” Su Yi said, shooting her daughter a look of surprise. Alexandra couldn’t bear to make eye contact with her mother.
“So nice to meet you,” Kitty said in a perfunctory tone, utterly disinterested in Alistair’s elderly grandma. She turned to the sultana and dipped into a deep curtsey. “Your Honor, it is such a privilege to meet you!”
Cassandra turned away, trying to keep a straight face, while the other ladies glowered at Kitty.
“Wait a minute, are you the youngest sister in Many Splendid Things?” the sultana suddenly asked.
“Yes, she is,” Alistair proudly answered for her.
“Alamaaaaak, I love your show!” the sultana exclaimed. “My God, you’re so eeeeee-vil! Tell me, you didn’t really die in that tsunami, did you?”
Kitty grinned. “I’m not telling you—you’ll just have to wait for next season. Your Gracefulness, your jewels are magnificent. Is that diamond brooch real? It’s bigger than a golf ball!”
The sultana nodded her head in amusement. “It’s called the Star of Malaya.”
“Ooooh, can I touch it, Your Highness?” Kitty asked. Mrs. Lee Yong Chien was about to protest, but the sultana eagerly leaned forward.
“My God, feel the weight!” Kitty sighed, cupping the diamond in her palm. “How many carats?”
“One hundred and eighteen,” the sultana declared.
“One day, you’ll buy me something just like this, won’t you?” Kitty said to Alistair unabashedly. The other ladies were aghast.
