Crazy Rich Asians

by Kevin Kwan

  “But how about your grandmother? I mean, Peik Lin says that Tyersall Park must be worth hundreds of millions just for the land alone,” Rachel interjected.

  “My grandmother has always lived in the manner that she has, so I can only presume that her holdings are substantial. Three times a year Mr. Tay, an elderly gentleman from the family bank, comes up to Tyersall Park in the same brown Peugeot he’s driven ever since I was born and pays a visit to my grandmother. She meets with him alone, and it’s the only time her lady’s maids have to leave the room. So it’s never crossed my mind to ask her how much she’s worth.”

  “And your father never talked to you about it?”

  “My father has never once brought up the subject of money—he probably knows even less than I do. You know, when there’s always been money in your life, it’s not something you spend much time thinking about.”

  Rachel tried to wrap her mind around that concept. “So why does everyone think you’ll end up inheriting everything?”

  Nick bristled. “This is Singapore, and the idle rich spend all their time gossiping about other people’s money. Who’s worth how much, who inherited how much, who sold their house for how much. But everything that’s said about my family is pure speculation. The point is, I’ve never presumed that I will one day be the sole inheritor of some great fortune.”

  “But you must have known that you were different?” Rachel said.

  “Well, I sensed that I was different because I lived in this big old house with all these rituals and traditions, but I never thought it had anything to do with money. When you’re a kid, you’re more concerned with how many pineapple tarts you’re allowed to eat or where to catch the best tadpoles. I didn’t grow up with a sense of entitlement like some of my cousins did. At least, I hope not.”

  “I wouldn’t have been attracted to you if you went around acting like some pompous prick,” Rachel said. As they walked back to the car, she slipped her arm around his waist. “Thank you for opening up. I know it wasn’t easy for you to talk about these things.”

  “I want you to know everything about me, Rachel. I always have, which is why I invited you here in the first place. I’m sorry if it has felt like I wasn’t forthcoming—I just didn’t think any of this money talk was relevant. I mean, in New York, none of this really matters to our life, does it?”

  Rachel paused for a while before answering. “It doesn’t, especially now that I have a better understanding of your family. I just needed to be sure that you’re the same person I fell in love with back in New York, that’s all.”

  “Am I?”

  “You’re way cuter now that I know you’re loaded.”

  Nick laughed and pulled Rachel tightly into his arms, giving her a long, lingering kiss.

  “Ready for a complete change of scenery?” he asked, kissing her chin and then moving down to the tender spot on her throat.

  “I think I’m ready to get a room. Any motels close by?” Rachel breathed, her fingers still entangled in his hair, not wanting him to stop.

  “I don’t think there are any motels you’d want to be in. Let’s race to Cameron Highlands before it gets dark—it’s only about three hours away. And then we can pick up where we left off on the most ginormous four-poster bed you’ve ever seen.”

  They made good time on the E1 highway, passing through the capital city of Kuala Lumpur toward Ipoh. When they reached the town of Tapah—the gateway to the Cameron Highlands—Nick turned onto the picturesque old road and they began the ascent up the mountain. The car climbed the steep hill, with Nick expertly negotiating the twists and turns, honking the horn at every blind curve.

  Nick was anxious to get to the house before sunset. He had called ahead and given explicit instructions to Rajah, the majordomo. There were going to be votive candles in white paper bags lining the way down to the lookout point at the end of the lawn, and a stand with chilled champagne and fresh mangosteens right next to the carved wooden bench where they could sit and take in the scenic view. Then, just as the sun was sinking behind the hills and thousands of tropical birds descended into the treetops, he would get down on one knee and ask Rachel to be his forever. He wondered which was the correct knee to get down on? Right or left?

  Rachel, meanwhile, found herself clutching at her seat-belt buckle tightly as she gazed out the window at sheer drops down into jungle-like ravines. “Uh, I’m in no hurry to die,” she announced anxiously.

  “I’m only going forty miles per hour. Don’t worry, I can drive this road blindfolded—I used to come here almost every weekend during the summer holidays. Plus, don’t you think it would be a glamorous way to die—careening down the side of a mountain in a classic Jag convertible?” Nick cracked, trying to diffuse the tension.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d rather live a few days longer. Annnnd, I’d rather be in an old Ferrari, like James Dean,” Rachel quipped.

  “Actually, it was a Porsche.”

  “Smart-ass!”

  The hairpin curves soon gave way to a breathtaking view of undulating green hills punctuated by bright swaths of color. In the distance, Rachel could make out flower orchards tucked along the hillsides and quaint little cottages.

  “This is Bertam Valley,” Nick said with a flourish. “We’re about twelve hundred meters above sea level now. Back in the colonial days this was where British officers would come to escape the tropical heat.”

  Just past the town of Tanah Rata, they turned onto a narrow private road that snaked its way up a lushly planted hill. Behind another curve, a stately Tudor-style manor house on its own hillock suddenly reared into view. “I thought you promised you weren’t going to take me to some luxury hotel,” Rachel said in a half-chiding tone.

  “This isn’t a hotel, this is my grandmother’s summer lodge.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Rachel said, gazing at the beautiful structure. The lodge wasn’t nearly as big as Tyersall Park, but it still looked formidably grand with its gabled roofs and black-and-white timbered woodwork. The whole place was aglow with lights blazing from the casement windows.

  “Looks like we’ve been expected,” Rachel said.

  “Well, I called ahead for them to prepare for our arrival—there’s a full staff all year round,” Nick replied. The house was situated halfway up a gentle slope, with a long, paved stone path leading up to the front door. Its façade was partially covered in ivy and wisteria, and lining both sides of the slope were rosebushes that grew almost up to eye level.

  Rachel sighed, thinking she had never seen such a romantic mountain haven in her life. “What enormous roses!”

  “These are special Cameronian roses that only grow in this climate. Isn’t the scent intoxicating?” Nick chatted on nervously. He knew he was only minutes away from one of the seminal moments of his life.

  A young Malay butler wearing a crisp white dress shirt tucked into a gray-patterned sarong opened the door, bowing gallantly at them. Nick wondered where Rajah, the longtime butler, was. Rachel stepped into the front foyer and felt as if she had been transported once again into another era, to the colonial Malaya of a Somerset Maugham novel, perhaps. Anglo Raj wooden benches in the front hall were interspersed with wicker baskets brimming with freshly picked camellias, mica-shade lanterns hung from the mahogany-paneled walls, and a long, faded Tianjin silk carpet drew the eye straight back to the French doors and the glorious view of the highlands.

  “Er, before I show you the rest of the house, let’s, um, take in the sunset view,” Nick said, feeling his throat go dry with anticipation. He led Rachel across the foyer and reached for the handle of the French doors leading out onto the terrace. Then suddenly he halted. He blinked a few times just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Standing at the edge of the expansive formal lawn having a smoke was Ahmad, his mother’s chauffeur.

  “Fuck me!” Nick swore under his breath.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Rachel asked.

  “I think we’ve got co
mpany,” Nick muttered darkly. He turned around, heading for the drawing room down the hall. Peering in, his suspicions were confirmed. Sure enough, perched on the floral chintz settee facing the door was his mother, who shot him a rather triumphant look as he entered the room. He was about to say something when his mother announced, a little too cheerily, “Oh look, Mummy, Nick and Rachel have arrived!”

  Rachel spun around. Sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace was Nick’s grandmother, swaddled in an embroidered cashmere shawl, being poured a cup of tea by one of her Thai lady’s maids.

  “Ah Ma, what are you doing here?” Nick asked in astonishment.

  “I received some very disturbing news, and so we rushed up here,” Su Yi said in Mandarin, speaking slowly and deliberately.

  Nick always found it disconcerting when his grandmother spoke to him in Mandarin—he associated that particular dialect with childhood scoldings. “What news? What has happened?” Nick asked, getting concerned.

  “Well, I heard that you ran off to Malaysia, and that you mean to ask the girl to marry you,” Su Yi said, not bothering to look at Rachel.

  Rachel pursed her lips, shocked and thrilled at the same time.

  “I was planning to surprise Rachel, but I guess that’s ruined now,” Nick huffed, staring at his mother.

  “No matter, Nicky,” his grandmother smiled. “I do not give you permission to marry her. Now let’s stop all this nonsense and go home. I don’t want to be stuck having dinner here, when the cook hasn’t prepared properly for me. I’m sure she didn’t get any fresh fish today.”

  Rachel’s jaw dropped.

  “Ah Ma, I’m sorry I don’t have your blessing, but that doesn’t change a thing. I intend to marry Rachel, if she’ll have me,” Nick said calmly, glancing at Rachel hopefully.

  “Don’t talk nonsense. This girl does not come from a proper family,” Su Yi said.

  Rachel felt her face go hot. “I’ve heard enough of this,” she said in a quivering voice, turning to leave the room.

  “No, Rachel, please don’t go,” Nick said, grabbing her by the arm. “I need you to hear this. Ah Ma, I don’t know what stories you’ve been told, but I have met Rachel’s family, and I like them very much. They have certainly shown me a great deal more courtesy, warmth, and respect than our family has shown to Rachel.”

  “Of course they should respect you—after all, you’re a Young,” Su Yi said.

  “I can’t believe you just said that!” Nick groaned.

  Eleanor stood up and approached Rachel, looking her in the eye. “Rachel, I’m sure you’re a nice girl. You must know I am doing you a favor. With your kind of background, you will be miserable in this family—”

  “Stop insulting Rachel’s family when you don’t even know them!” Nick snapped. He put his arm on Rachel’s shoulder and declared, “Let’s get out of here!”

  “You’ve met her family?” Eleanor called after him.

  Nick turned back with a scowl. “Yes, I’ve met Rachel’s mother many times, and I went to Thanksgiving at her uncle’s in California, where I got to know many of her relatives.”

  “Even her father?” Eleanor asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “Rachel’s father died a long time ago, you already know that,” Nick said impatiently.

  “Well, that’s a very convenient story, isn’t it? But I assure you he’s very much alive,” Eleanor shot back.

  “What?” Rachel said, confused.

  “Rachel, you can stop pretending, lah. I know all about your father—”

  “What?”

  “Aiyoh, look at her act!” Eleanor twisted her face mockingly. “You know as well as I do that your father is still alive!”

  Rachel looked at Eleanor as if she was talking to a deranged woman. “My father died in a horrible industrial accident when I was two months old. That’s why my mother brought me to America.”

  Eleanor studied the girl for a moment, trying to discern whether she was giving the performance of a lifetime or speaking the truth. “Well, I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you, Rachel. Your father did not die. He’s in a prison outside Shenzhen. I met him myself a few weeks ago. The man was rotting away behind rusty bars, but he still had the nerve to demand an enormous dowry in exchange for you!”

  Eleanor took out a faded manila envelope, the same envelope she had been given by the investigator in Shenzhen. She placed three pieces of paper on the coffee table. One was a copy of Rachel’s original birth certificate. The next was a 1992 press clipping about the jailing of a man named Zhou Fang Min, after he had ordered illegal cost-cutting measures that led to a construction accident that killed seventy-four workers in Shenzhen (HUO PENG CONDO TRAGEDY UPDATE: MONSTER JAILED AT LAST! the headline screamed). The third was a notice of a reward from the Zhou family, for the safe return of a baby named Zhou An Mei, who had been kidnapped by her mother, Kerry Ching, in 1981.

  Nick and Rachel took a few steps toward the table and stared at the papers in astonishment.

  “What the hell did you do, Mum? You had Rachel’s family investigated?” Nick kicked over the coffee table.

  Nick’s grandmother shook her head as she sipped her tea. “Imagine wanting to marry a girl from such a family! So disgraceful! Really, Nicky, what would Gong Gong say if he was alive? Madri, this tea needs a little more sugar.”

  Nick was livid. “Ah Ma, it’s taken me about twenty years, but I finally understand why Dad moved to Sydney! He can’t stand being around you!”

  Su Yi put down her teacup, stunned by what her favorite grandson had just said.

  Rachel grabbed at Nick’s wrist urgently. He would never forget the look of devastation on her face. “I think … need air,” she muttered, before collapsing into the wicker tea cart.

  * * *

  * “Good boy” in Malay.

  14

  64 Pak Tin Street

  HONG KONG

  The apartment was not the love nest Astrid had imagined—the living room was tiny, with a green vinyl sofa, three wooden dining-room chairs, and bright blue plastic buckets full of toys taking up one side of the room. Only the muffled sounds of a neighbor practicing “Ballade pour Adeline” on the electric keyboard filled the silence. Astrid stood in the middle of the cramped space, wondering how her life had come to this. How did it get to the point where her husband had resorted to fleeing to this sad romper room?

  “I can’t believe you got your dad’s men to track me down,” Michael muttered contemptuously, sitting down on the sofa and stretching his arms out along its back.

  “My father had nothing to do with this. Can’t you give me a little credit for having my own resources?” Astrid said.

  “Great. You win,” Michael said.

  “So this is where you’ve been coming. Is this where your mistress lives?” Astrid finally ventured to ask.

  “Yes,” Michael said flatly.

  Astrid was silent for a while. She picked up a little stuffed elephant from one of the buckets and gave it a squeeze. The elephant made a muffled electronic roar. “And these are your son’s toys?”

  Michael hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” he finally answered.

  “BASTARD!” Astrid screamed, throwing the elephant at him with all her might. The elephant bounced off his chest, and Astrid sank to the floor, trembling as her body was racked with violent sobs. “I don’t … care … who you fuck … but how could you do this … to our son?” She sputtered through her tears.

  Michael leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this. As badly as he wanted out of the marriage, he couldn’t take hurting her anymore. Things had spiraled out of control, and it was time to come clean. He got up from the sofa and crouched down beside her.

  “Listen to me, Astrid,” he began, placing an arm on her shoulder. Astrid jerked backward and pushed his arm away.

  “Listen to me. The boy isn’t my son, Astrid.”

  Astrid looked up at him, not quite registering
what he meant.

  Michael looked Astrid directly in the eyes and said, “That’s not my son, and there is no mistress.”

  Astrid’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I know there was a woman here. I even recognize her.”

  “You recognize her because she’s my cousin. Jasmine Ng—her mother is my auntie, and the little boy is her son.”

  “So … who have you been having an affair with?” Astrid asked, more confused than ever.

  “Don’t you get it? It’s all been an act, Astrid. The text messages, the presents, everything! It’s all fake.”

  “Fake?” Astrid whispered in shock.

  “Yes, I faked everything. Well, except the dinner at Petrus. I took Jasmine as a treat—her husband has been working in Dubai and she’s had a hard time managing on her own.”

  “I can’t believe this …” Astrid said, her voice trailing off in astonishment.

  “I’m sorry, Astrid. It was a stupid idea, but I didn’t think I had any other choice.”

  “Any other choice? What do you mean?”

  “I thought it would be far better for you to want to leave me than for me to divorce you. I would rather be labeled the cheating bastard with an illegitimate son, so that you could … your family could save face,” Michael said rather dejectedly.

  Astrid stared at him incredulously. For a few minutes, she sat completely still as her mind sifted through everything that had happened in the past few months. Then she spoke. “I thought I was going insane … I wanted to believe you were having an affair, but my heart kept telling me that you would never do such a thing to me. That just wasn’t the man I married. I was so confused, so conflicted, and that’s really what made it so painful. An affair or a mistress I could deal with, but something else didn’t seem right, something kept gnawing away at me. It’s finally beginning to make sense now.”

  “I never wanted this to happen,” Michael said softly.

  “Then why? What did I ever do to make you this miserable? What made you go to all the trouble to fake an entire affair?”