“Does this mean what I think it does?” Colin asked, perking up.
“I think so, Colin. I think I’m finally ready to ask Rachel to marry me.”
“Well hurry up, lah!” Colin exclaimed, clapping Nick on the back. “Araminta already told me she intends to get pregnant on our honeymoon, so you need to catch up. I’m counting on your kid to check my kid into rehab!”
It was almost midnight, and while the older guests were perched comfortably on terraces overlooking the promenade, sipping their Rémy Martins or lapsang souchongs, Rachel was sitting with the few remaining girls in the banquet hall, catching up with Sophie Khoo. Lauren Lee and Mandy Ling were chatting several chairs away when Francesca sauntered up to the table.
“Wasn’t that dinner a disappointment? That Edible Bird’s Nest Semifreddo at the end — why would you ever puree bird’s nest? Bird’s nest is all about the texture, and that idiot chef transforms it into a half-frozen muck,” Francesca complained. “We should all go for supper after the fireworks.”
“Why don’t we just go now?” Lauren suggested.
“No, we have to stay for the fireworks! Araminta told me in secret that Cai Guo-Qiang designed a pyrotechnics show even more spectacular than the one he did for the Beijing Olympics. But we’ll take the first ferry the minute the show is over. Now, where should we go?”
“I don’t know Singapore well at all anymore. If I was in Sydney right now, I’d be heading to BBQ King for a late-night snack,” Sophie said.
“Oooh! BBQ King! I love that place! I think they have the best siew ngarp in the world!” Lauren declared.
“Aiyah, BBQ King is such a grease pit. Everyone knows that Four Seasons in London has the best roast duck in the world!” Mandy countered.
“I’m with Lauren, I think BBQ wins hands down,” Francesca said.
“No, I find their roast duck too fatty. The duck at Four Seasons is perfect, because they raise the ducks on their own special organic farm. Nico would agree with me — we used to go there all the time,” Mandy added with a flourish.
“Why do you call Nick ‘Nico’?” Rachel turned to Mandy, the curiosity finally getting the better of her.
“Oh, when we were just teenagers, we spent one summer together on Capri. His auntie Catherine, the Thai one, took a villa there. We would follow the sun all day — start out sunbathing at the beach club by the Faraglioni rocks in the mornings, go swimming in Grotta Verde after lunch, and end up at Il Faro beach for sunset. We got so brown, and Nicky’s hair got so long — he looked practically Italian! That’s when the Italian kids we made friends with started calling him Nico and I was his Mandi. Oooh, it was such a glorious time.”
“Sounds like it,” Rachel said lightly, ignoring Mandy’s blatant attempt to make her jealous by resuming her conversation with Sophie.
Francesca leaned into Mandy’s ear. “Really, Mandy, I could have milked that story way better. Your mother is right — you have lost your edge living in New York.”
“Go to hell, Francesca. I don’t see you doing any better,” Mandy said through gritted teeth as she got up from the table. She was fed up with the pressure coming at her from all sides, and wished she’d never agreed to come back. The girls looked up as Mandy stormed off.
Francesca shook her head slowly and gave Rachel a look. “Poor Mandy is so conflicted. She doesn’t know what she wants anymore. I mean, that was such a pathetic attempt at inciting jealousy, wasn’t it?”
For once, Rachel had to agree with Francesca. “It didn’t work, and I don’t understand why she keeps trying to make me jealous. I mean, why would I care about what Nick and her did when they were teenagers?”
Francesca burst out laughing. “Wait a minute, you thought she was trying to make you jealous?”
“Er … wasn’t that what she was doing?”
“No, honey, she’s not paying any attention to you. She was trying to make me jealous.”
“You?” Rachel asked, puzzled.
Francesca smirked. “Of course. That’s why she brought up the whole Capri story — I was there that summer too, you know. Mandy’s never gotten over how into me Nick was when we had our threesome.”
Rachel could feel her face get hot. Very hot. She wanted to bolt from the table but her legs seemed to have turned to glue.
Sophie and Lauren stared at Francesca, mouths agape.
Francesca looked straight into Rachel’s face and kept on chattering lightly. “Oh, does Nick still do that trick with the underside of his tongue? Mandy was far too prissy to let him go down on her, but my God, on me he would stay down there for hours.”
Right then, Nick entered the banquet hall. “There you are! Why are you all sitting in here like statues? The fireworks are about to start!”
9
99 Conduit Road
HONG KONG
The elderly amah opened the door and broke out into a wide grin. “Hiyah, Astrid Leong! Can it be?” she cried in Cantonese.
“Yes, Ah Chee — Astrid will be our guest for a few days. Will you please make sure no one knows? And don’t go telling any of the other maids who she is — I don’t want them carrying tales to my mother’s maids. This needs to remain absolutely secret, okay?” Charlie decreed.
“Yes, yes, of course, Charlieboy — now go and wash your hands,” Ah Chee said dismissively, continuing to fuss over Astrid. “Hiyah, you are still so beautiful, I have dreamed about you often over the years! You must be so tired, so hungry — it’s past three in the morning. Let me go and wake the cook up to make you something to eat. Some chicken congee maybe?”
“No need, Ah Chee. We came from a wedding banquet.” Astrid smiled. She could hardly believe that Charlie’s childhood nanny was still looking after him after all these years.
“Well, let me go make you some warm milk and honey. Or would you rather have Milo? Charlieboy always likes that when he’s up late,” Ah Chee said, rushing off to the kitchen.
“There’s no stopping Ah Chee, is there?” Astrid laughed. “I’m so glad you still have her.”
“She won’t leave!” Charlie sputtered in exasperation. “I built her a house back in China — hell, I built all her relatives houses, got a satellite dish for the village, the whole nine yards, thinking she would want to return to China to retire. But I think she’s much happier here bossing all the other maids around.”
“It’s very sweet of you to take care of her like that,” Astrid said. They stepped into an expansive double-height living room that resembled the wing of a modern art museum, with its row of bronze sculptures placed like sentinels in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Since when did you collect Brancusi?” she asked in surprise.
“Since you introduced me to him. Don’t you remember that exhibition you dragged me to at the Pompidou?”
“Gosh, I’d almost forgotten,” Astrid said, gazing at the minimalist curves of one of Brancusi’s golden birds.
“My wife, Isabel, is mad for the French Provençal look, so she hates my Brancusis. They haven’t had an airing until I moved in here. I’ve turned this apartment into a sort of refuge for my art. Isabel and the girls stay at our house on the Peak, and I’m here in the Mid-Levels. I like it because I can just walk out my door, take the escalator down to Central, and be at my office within ten minutes. Sorry it’s a bit cramped — it’s just a small duplex.”