“Where are we?” Rachel asked.
“This is a new development called Porto Fino Elite,” Carlton explained. “It’s modeled after those fancy neighborhoods in Newport Beach.”
“Clearly,” Nick commented as they passed a Mediterranean-style strip mall painted in shades of ochre, complete with a Starbucks. They turned off the main street and drove down a long avenue flanked by high stucco walls, at the end of which stood a cascading sculptural waterfall next to a gatehouse. Carlton pulled up in front of a massive gate with decorative steelwork panels, and three uniformed guards emerged from the gatehouse. One of the guards walked around the car warily, as if he was looking for hidden explosives, while another used an inspection mirror to peer under the car. The guard in charge recognized Carlton and checked him off a list. He gave Nick and Rachel a careful once-over, before nodding and waving the car through.
“That’s pretty serious security,” Nick commented.
“Yep—it’s very private here,” Carlton said.
The heavy gates clanked open, and the McLaren sped down a pristine white gravel road lined with Italian cypresses. Between the trees, Rachel and Nick could make out several small artificial lakes, from the middle of which sprouted fountains; sleek glass and steel buildings here and there; and the undulating mounds of a golf course. Finally, as they passed a pair of weathered obelisks, they came upon the main reception building—a majestic yet minimalist stone-and-glass structure surrounded by artfully planted pagoda trees.
“I had no idea they were building resorts like this in the suburbs outside Shanghai. What’s this place called?” Nick asked Carlton.
“This isn’t actually a resort. This is Colette’s weekend retreat.”
“Excuse me? This whole property is hers?” Rachel sputtered.
“Yes, all thirty acres of it. Her parents built it for her.”
“And where do they live?”
“They have houses in many cities—Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing—but they spend most of their time in Hawaii these days,” Carlton explained.
“They must have done rather well,” Rachel commented.
Carlton gave her a look of amusement. “I guess I never mentioned—Colette’s father is one of the five richest men in China.”
* * *
*1 Among the 220,000-plus foreigners living and working in Shanghai, there are now more than 20,000 French nationals, an alarming number of them INSEAD or école Polytechnique graduates. With Europe still stuck in an economic coma, graduates from Europe’s top universities have been moving to Shanghai in droves. None of them speak a word of Mandarin, but who needs to when the bartenders at M1NT, Mr. & Mrs. Bund, or Bar Rouge don’t either?
*2 Mandarin for “tall, rich, and handsome,” the minimum requirements every Mainland Chinese girl looks for in a husband.
8
COLETTE
SHANGHAI, CHINA
Carlton’s car pulled up to the front entrance of the house, and two attendants in matching James Perse black T-shirts and trousers appeared from out of nowhere. One of them helped Rachel out of the car, while the other informed Carlton, “Sorry, you can’t leave your car here like you normally do. We are expecting Mr. Bing’s arrival. You can either move it around into the car porch, or I can park it for you.”
“I’ll move it—thanks,” Carlton replied. He zoomed off and returned shortly to join Rachel and Nick at the entrance. The imposing oxidized maple-wood doors opened, and they found themselves in a serene inner courtyard almost entirely composed of a dark, shallow reflecting pool. A travertine walkway ran down the middle of the pool toward tall lacquered doors the color of espresso, and bamboo block plantings ran along the walls of the courtyard. The lacquered doors parted silently as the three of them approached, revealing the inner sanctum.
Before them was an immense, eighty-foot-long living room decorated entirely in tones of black and white. Maids in long, black silk qipaos*1 stood in a silent line by gray shikumen brick pillars hung with black-ink calligraphy scrolls, while polished black-tile floors and low-slung white sofas suffused the space with a tranquil, seductive vibe. The glass wall at the end of the room revealed an outdoor lounge filled with sleek sofas and dark-wood coffee tables, beyond which one could see more reflecting pools and pavilions.
Even Nick, who had grown up among the splendors of Tyersall Park, was momentarily taken aback. “Wow—is this a house or a Four Seasons resort?”
Carlton laughed. “Actually, Colette fell in love with the Puli Hotel in Shanghai and tried to get her father to buy it. When they found it wasn’t for sale no matter the price, he commissioned his architect to build her this place. This grand salon is inspired by the Puli’s lobby.”
An Englishman in a dapper black suit approached them. “Good afternoon, I’m Wolseley, the butler. May I offer you something to drink?”
Before anyone could respond, Colette made her entrance through another door in an oleander pink tea-length dress. “Rachel, Nick, so glad you could make it!” With her hair swept up into a high bun and her ruffled gazar skirt billowing about her as she walked into the room, Colette looked like she had just stepped off the cover of a 1960s issue of Vogue.
Rachel greeted her with a hug. “Colette, you look like you should be having breakfast at Tiffany’s or something! And my God, your house is just incredible!”
Colette gave a modest giggle. “Here, let me give you a proper tour. But first, drinks! What libation can we tempt you with? I’m sure Carlton will have his usual tumbler of vodka, and I think I’ll have a Campari and soda to match my dress. Rachel, do you feel like a Bellini?”
“Um, sure, only if it’s not too much trouble,” Rachel said.
“Not at all! We always have fresh white peaches for our Bellinis, don’t we, Wolseley? Nick, what will it be?”
“I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
“Ugh, the boys are so boring.” Colette rolled her eyes at Wolseley. “Come, follow me. Did Carlton explain to you my whole concept for this house?”
“We heard that you liked some hotel in Shanghai—” Rachel began.
“Yes, the Puli—but I’ve made this house even more luxurious. We used precious materials that you just wouldn’t want to use in a public space like a hotel. I know many people have this impression that everyone in China lives in tacky Louis XIV mansions where everything is dipped in gold and it looks like a tassel factory exploded, so I wanted this house to be a showplace for the best of contemporary China. Every piece of furniture you see in this grand salon was custom-designed and handcrafted here by our finest designers, in the rarest materials. And of course, all the antiques are museum quality. The scrolls on the walls are by Wu Boli, from the fourteenth century, and that Ming dynasty wine cup over there? I bought it from a dealer in Xi’an two years ago for six hundred thousand—the curator from the St. Louis Museum just offered me fifteen million for it. As if I would ever sell!” Rachel stared at the small porcelain bowl painted with chickens, trying to believe it was worth a hundred times her annual salary.
The group stepped out into the back courtyard, which was dominated by another vast reflecting pool. Colette led them along a covered walkway as a haunting New Agey song played softly on hidden outdoor speakers. “The pride of this estate is my greenhouse—the most important thing you should know is that this whole property is one hundred percent certified green—all the roofs have solar paneling, and all the reflecting pools actually flow into a state-of-the-art aquaponics system.”
The four of them entered a futuristic glass-roofed structure that was blindingly lit and lined with alternating rows of fish tanks and vegetable patches. “All the water gets channeled into the tanks, where we farm fish for eating, and then the nutrient-rich water fertilizes the organic vegetables grown here. See, I’m not just green—I’m emerald green!” Colette proudly informed them.