“Wong’s factories, most of them,” Tam said.
They saw the lights of Wong’s property some distance down the road. As they got closer, Ava could see that the mansion was set about a hundred metres back from the entrance, which was guarded by a tall, spiked wrought-iron fence. The car paused in front of the solid metal gate while the security cameras identified them. When it swung open, Ava gasped. She found herself looking at a replica of the gate of Tiananmen Square, the Gate of Heavenly Peace.
“It is an exact reproduction,” Tam said.
“Let’s hope the house is not a reproduction of the Forbidden City,” Uncle said. “The plumbing there is not up to par.”
Ava laughed. Tam looked as if he wasn’t sure whether Uncle was joking.
As they passed under the gate, the Wong castle loomed in front of them. It was a traditional Chinese design, constructed with red brick and a sweeping green tiled roof. There were eight floors, each with eight large picture windows across the front facade, ten metres below those on the next floor. The scale and breadth of the magnificent structure conjured up images of the Louvre.
The Mercedes stopped in front of a wide stone stairway. Ava and Uncle climbed out of the car and found themselves looking up twenty steps, towards a set of red double doors flanked by enormous stone lions. The staircase was almost as wide as it was high. They started to climb, Tam two steps behind carrying their luggage.
The doors swung open. A man and a woman appeared and walked to the top of the staircase. Ava could feel their eyes following her and Uncle. When they reached the landing, the man took a step forward.
“Welcome to my home, Uncle,” Wong Changxing said.
(5)
Everything about Wong Changxing is nondescript, Ava thought. Medium height, medium build, clean-shaven, hair neatly trimmed, and clear, inquisitive eyes. Take away the Armani suit and the Gucci loafers and he could have been any small businessman.
Wong May Ling was not quite so neutral. She was slightly taller than her husband, and striking in a pink and white wool Chanel suit. Her hair was pulled back tightly, exposing fine cheekbones and smooth, delicate skin. She had a small, pert nose and thin lips. Ava noticed that she was wearing hardly any makeup. She also wasn’t wearing any jewellery, and Ava made a note to leave hers in the room.
The most striking thing about May Ling was her eyes. They were a deep, dark brown, almost black, an effect heightened by a touch of mascara. In Ava’s world, Chinese women were, if not deferential, then often reserved on a first meeting, avoiding direct eye contact. But May Ling’s eyes bore into Uncle’s, and then they turned to Ava. She did a quick appraisal of Ava’s clothes and then moved to her face. Ava stared back. May Ling didn’t turn away, but Ava saw her eyes flicker and wondered what she was thinking.
“We’ll have dinner in about half an hour. Unfortunately we have company tonight. It is an arrangement that was made some time ago and we couldn’t cancel. You will meet some interesting people, though,” Wong Changxing said. “Would you like to go to your rooms first?”
“Yes,” Uncle said for both of them.
May Ling nodded in their direction, then wordlessly turned and left. “She needs to check on dinner,” Wong said with a slight sweep of his hand, inviting them into the house. “My man will bring your bags. Your man can leave them here at the door.”
Wong walked them to an elevator. “You will be staying on the seventh floor. Staff are there waiting for you. If you need anything, just ask. Dinner will be served on the ground floor.”
When the elevator doors opened onto the seventh floor, two maids greeted Ava and Uncle and led them to their suites. Ava looked around the room, admiring the teak floors, the walls lined in soft, iridescent white silk tinged with pink. The bamboo furniture had plush cushions that matched the silk on the walls, and in the centre of the room was a solid oak four-poster bed that led Ava to assume the suite was intended for Westerners. She went to the window and looked out on a beautifully manicured back garden and land that seemed to stretch for about a hundred metres.
She turned away from the window and walked into the four-piece marble bathroom to freshen up for dinner, and to take off her Tank Francaise watch. She was thinking about lying down on the bed when she heard a knock on the door. Uncle walked in and said, “Come to my room.”
Ava followed him to his room. Uncle motioned for her to join him at the window, which looked out on the front of the Wong property. “Look,” he said. “Those two are military cars. Generals, I would think. And those other two are government cars.”
“I hope the evening doesn’t turn into a food-and-drink binge.”
Uncle shrugged. “What did you think of the Wongs?”
“He seems more passive than I would have thought. She seems the opposite.”
“We will see.”
The other guests were already in the dining room when Uncle and Ava arrived. There were seven other couples. All of the men were dressed in business suits while the women were dressed more elaborately, in evening gowns. Ava took in the cavernous room with its six-metre ceiling, white marble floors, and dark wood-panelled walls decorated with Chinese landscapes of the countryside.
Wong stood with his male guests at one end of an immense bar in a corner of the room. He waved at them and introduced them to two generals dressed in plain military uniforms, the mayor of Wuhan, an assistant to the governor of Hubei, and two executives from Wong’s business.
Ava gravitated towards the women at the other end of the bar. The youngest looked to be in her forties. Aside from May Ling, they were all wearing floor-length designer dresses and dripping with platinum, gold, diamonds, and jade. The other women eyed Ava, in her pink Brooks Brothers shirt and black slacks, with either suspicion or disdain.
“This is Ms. Ava Lee,” May Ling said. “She is here to help us with a project.”
A few of the women nodded at her while the others continued their conversations. Ava could feel May Ling’s eyes on her again and was about to say something when their hostess said, “It’s time to sit, ladies.”
May Ling lightly touched Ava’s elbow, guiding her to the enormous dining room table, and whispered, “It is General Pan’s birthday that we are here to celebrate.”
The general sat to the right of Wong, and Uncle to the left. Ava was directly across from them, sandwiched between two wives. At each place setting was a gold-plated Dupont lighter and a pack of Dunhill cigarettes. The women on either side of her lit cigarettes, and Uncle and most of the other men did the same. He looked at her across the table, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. You are in China now, he mouthed.
The meal was served with almost military precision; each dish was brought out to a side table and served at the exact moment when the previous dish was finished. It was a meal designed to show respect, a parade of the most expensive, top-quality food. Shark fin soup. Whole abalone. Jumbo prawns in chili sauce. Slivers of filet mignon. Crispy pigeon. Fukin rice. A live fish that must have weighed two kilograms was brought to Wong before being prepared. He tapped the fish on its chin with a chopstick. The mouth flapped up and down. That redefines fresh, Ava thought. To end the meal, long boiled noodles were served with sesame paste.