China Rich Girlfriend

by Kevin Kwan

  10

  QUEEN MARY HOSPITAL

  POK FU LAM, HONG KONG

  Nick was doing the New York Times crossword puzzle on his iPad when the police officer on guard outside the room poked his head in.

  “Sir, there’s a couple at reception demanding to see Ms. Chu. They have two cartfuls of food products with them, and the man says he’s her brother.”

  “Oh yes.” Nick smiled, leaning over and whispering softly into Rachel’s ear. “Baby…you awake? Carlton and Colette are here. Are you up for seeing people?”

  Rachel, who had been napping intermittently all morning, opened her eyes groggily. “Um, sure.”

  “Send them up,” Nick instructed the officer.

  It had been two days since Rachel had been moved from the intensive care unit to the private ward, and her condition had been steadily improving ever since the doctors discovered the precise drug that had been used to poison her and swiftly administered an antidote.

  Soon there was a knock on the door, and Carlton and Colette entered the room. “Hey, Sis! This isn’t exactly what I thought the Four Seasons Hangzhou was going to be like,” Carlton teased, coming up to her bedside and squeezing her hand gently.

  Rachel smiled weakly. “You guys really shouldn’t have taken the trouble—”

  “Oh, come on! We caught the first flight out the minute Nick called,” Carlton said. “Besides, there’s a sale at Joyce that Colette wanted to get to.”

  Colette smacked Carlton’s arm. “When we hadn’t heard from you guys by Monday, we thought you were just having too good a time in Hangzhou without us.”

  “A marvelous time, as you can see,” Rachel said drolly, extending her arms to show off her IV tubes.

  “I still can’t believe you can get an attack of gallstones when you’re this young! I thought it only happened to old people,” Colette said.

  “Actually, it can happen to anyone,” Nick said.

  Colette perched on the edge of Rachel’s hospital bed and said, “Well, I’m so glad you’re back on the mend.”

  “Did you guys fly down on your smaller plane…Grande?” Rachel asked Colette.

  “Oh, you mean Venti? No, no we didn’t,” Colette said, rolling her eyes. “My father has cut off my fleet privileges. Ever since I turned down Richie Yang’s proposal, my parents have been furious and they have this idea that they’re going to teach me some kind of lesson. Can you believe they put a freeze on my bank account, and my Titanium card got revolted? Well, guess what? The joke’s on them, because I can survive just fine without their help—you are now looking at the new international brand ambassador for Prêt-à-Couture!”

  “Colette just signed a multimillion-dollar contract with them,” Carlton boasted.

  “Congratulations! How fantastic!” Rachel said.

  “Yes, I patched things up with Virginie de Bassinet, and now she’s throwing me a party next week at the Johnnie Walker House to make the big announcement. I’ll be in all the ads for Prêt-à-Couture next season, and Tim Walker will shoot the campaign. I hope you’ll be well enough to make it to the party.”

  Nick and Rachel remained silent.

  “Hey, this crazy girl here insisted on bringing you more food from Daylesford Organic, but the warden wouldn’t let us bring the carts up to this floor,” Carlton said.

  “Well, I’m sure the hospital food must be insipid,” Colette remarked.

  “Actually, you’d be surprised. I had a beef pie in the cafeteria yesterday that was rather good,” Nick said.

  “Thank you so much, Colette. I just started back on solid foods this morning, and I’m craving something sweet,” Rachel said.

  “OMG—let’s smuggle up some of the white-chocolate-dipped lemon biscuits for you!” Colette squealed.

  “Maybe if I go downstairs with you, they’ll let us bring some stuff up,” Nick suggested to Carlton.

  The two of them headed to the lobby. In the elevator, Carlton said, “I’m so relieved to see that Rachel is out of the woods. But why are there police all over the place?”

  Nick looked Carlton in the eye. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise it’s strictly between us, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  Nick took a deep breath. “Rachel didn’t have an attack of gallstones—she was poisoned.”

  “Like food poisoning?” Carlton asked, confused.

  “No, someone intentionally poisoned her with a toxin.”

  Carlton stared at Nick in horror. “You must be joking.”

  “I wish I was. She doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but you know she could have died. Her organs were shutting down one by one, and the doctors were hopelessly trying to figure out what was wrong until we found out she was poisoned.”

  “Un-fucking-believable! How did you find out?”

  “We got an anonymous letter.”

  Carlton gasped. “What? Who would want to poison Rachel?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Thanks to my aunt Alix, who knows the chief executive of Hong Kong very well, it’s become an official investigation involving both the Hong Kong and Chinese police.” The elevator reached the lobby, and Nick pulled Carlton to a quiet corner. “Let me ask you…honestly, do you think Richie Yang is capable of something like this?”

  Carlton paused for a moment. “Richie? Why would he have anything to do with this?”

  “You humiliated him in front of all his friends in Paris. Colette made it clear to everyone that she prefers you—” Nick began.

  “You think he poisoned Rachel to get back at me? Bloody hell, that would make him even sicker than I thought! I’d never forgive myself if that were true.”

  “It’s just one theory. We’ve been trying to come up with anyone who might have the slightest motive. I think the police are going to want to talk to both you and Colette at some point.”

  “Of course, of course,” Carlton said, his brow furrowed in shock. “Do they know what kind of toxin was used?”

  “It’s called Tarquinomid. It’s a very hard-to-get pharmaceutical that’s normally used to treat people with multiple sclerosis, manufactured only in Israel. They say it’s sometimes used by Mossad agents for assassinations.”

  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 cemetery. 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 wit
h 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?”