The three of them left the police headquarters, and as their SUV drove along the darkened roads of Huangpu, they sat in silence, each contemplating everything that had just transpired. Sitting in the front passenger seat, Bao Gaoliang was a jumble of emotions. He was sickened by Roxanne and Colette, but even more angry at and ashamed of himself. It was all his fault. He had allowed things to spiral out of control with Shaoyen, and as the secrets and lies spun around Carlton became a dangerously tangled web, Rachel was the innocent victim who got caught in it. Rachel, who wanted nothing from him except to get to know him and his family. She deserved so much better. She didn’t deserve to be exposed to a family as diseased as his.
Nick appeared to be sitting placidly in the backseat with his arm around Rachel, but inside he was seething with fury. That fucking Colette. She was the one who was ultimately culpable for causing Rachel so much pain, and he wanted her to feel the heat along with Roxanne. It was an outrage that Roxanne would be going to jail while Colette got away scotfree. The rich and well-connected were always untouchable, he knew that only too well. But if Rachel hadn’t been sitting beside him right now, he would’ve hightailed it to Colette’s house and shoved her face into that ridiculous reflecting pool, with Celine Dion blaring full blast.
Leaning her head against Nick’s broad shoulder, Rachel remained the calmest of the trio. From the moment Roxanne began talking in that interrogation cell, Rachel started to feel a tremendous sense of relief. The ordeal was over. There wasn’t some crazy irrational stranger after her. It was just the crazy personal assistant of her brother’s girlfriend, someone she now felt only intense pity for. All she wanted at this moment was to get to their hotel. She wanted to slip into that luscious bed with the down pillows and silken Frette sheets and just go to sleep.
As their Audi turned onto Henan South Road, Nick noticed that they were going in the opposite direction of their hotel. “Aren’t we heading away from the Bund?” he asked Gaoliang.
“Yes, we are. I’m not taking you to the Peninsula. You’re going to be staying at my house tonight—where you should have been all along.”
They entered a quieter residential area lined with plane trees whose branches created leafy archways over the streets, and the car pulled up outside a gatehouse by a high stone wall. A black wrought-iron gate was opened by a police guard, and the car proceeded along a short curving driveway to a beautiful French manor–style house ablaze in lights. As the SUV rolled up the circular front driveway, the tall oak doors opened and three women came scurrying down the steps.
“Hello, Ah Ting. Is my wife home?” Gaoliang said to his head housekeeper.
“Yes, she’s retired upstairs for the evening.”
“This is my daughter and her husband. Could you please call the Peninsula and make sure their luggage is brought here immediately? And see that a late supper is prepared for them. Maybe some fish-ball noodle soup?”
Ah Ting gawked at Rachel in utter shock. His daughter?
“Please see that the blue bedroom is made comfortable for them,” Gaoliang instructed.
“The blue bedroom?” Ah Ting asked. The blue bedroom was used only for honored guests.
“That’s what I said,” Gaoliang said forcefully, glancing up at the second floor and noticing his wife’s silhouette in the window.
Ah Ting hesitated for a moment, as if she was going to say something, but then she turned and started barking orders at the two younger maids.
Gaoliang smiled at Rachel and Nick. “It’s been a very long day. I hope you don’t mind if I bid you good night now. See you in the morning.”
“Good night,” Rachel and Nick said in unison, as they watched Gaoliang disappear into the house.
? ? ?
Rachel found herself woken up by a shrill chirping outside the window. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting gauzy shadows onto the soft lilac blue walls. Rolling out of the four-poster bed, she walked toward the window and discovered a bird’s nest tucked in the eave of the gabled roof. Three hungry little chicks arched their tiny beaks skyward, eager to be fed breakfast by their mother, who fluttered around the nest protectively. She ran to get her iPhone, and leaning daringly out the dormer window, she tried to capture a good shot of the mama bird, which had a distinctive black head, gray body, and a smart dash of blue along her wings. Rachel took a few snaps, and as she put her camera phone down, she was startled by the sight of a lady in a pale yellow mandarin-collared dress standing in the middle of the garden staring up intently at her. It had to be Carlton’s mother.
Caught off guard, Rachel blurted out, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” the lady replied a little tersely. Then she said in a more relaxed tone, “You found the magpies.”
“Yes. I took some pictures,” Rachel said, immediately feeling a little foolish for stating the obvious.
“Coffee?” the woman said.
“Thank you. I’ll be right down,” Rachel replied. She tiptoed around the room for a few minutes, trying not to disturb Nick as she brushed her teeth, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and fretted about what she should wear. Oh, this was ridiculous—the lady had already seen her in her oversize Knicks jersey and Nick’s old boxers. A thought occurred to her: Was that lady even Carlton’s mother? She threw on a simple embroidered white cotton summer dress and walked gingerly down the graceful curving staircase. Why was she suddenly so nervous? She knew that the Baos had talked till the early hours—there were muffled voices echoing every now and then down the hallway from their guest room.
Where was she supposed to meet the lady? As she peeked around the stately reception rooms on the ground floor, which were filled with an elegant mix of French and Chinese antiques, she wondered what Carlton’s mother was going to say to her now, after all that had happened. Carlton’s words in Paris suddenly echoed in her mind: My mother would rather die than let you set foot in her house!
A maid passing along a corridor with a silver coffee carafe stopped when she saw Rachel poking around. “This way, ma’am,” she said, leading her through a set of French doors onto a wide flagstone terrace, where the lady from the garden sat at a dark rosewood bistro table. Rachel walked toward her slowly, her throat suddenly going dry.
The lady watched the girl come out onto the terrace. So this is my husband’s daughter. The girl who almost died because of Carlton. And as the girl came into focus, a revelation: My God, she looks just like him. She’s his sister. And just like that, all the fears she had bottled up so deeply, all the thoughts that had been tearing her up inside instantly became meaningless.
Rachel approached the table, and the lady stood up and extended her hand. “I’m Bao Shaoyen. Welcome to my home.”
“I’m Rachel Chu. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
15
RIDOUT ROAD
SINGAPORE
When Astrid returned from Friday night dinner at Tyersall Park, Led Zeppelin was blasting at an eardrum-shattering level on the sound system in Michael’s study. She carried a sleepy Cassian upstairs to his bedroom and handed him over to his au pair. “How long has it been like this?” she asked.
“I only got home an hour ago, madame. It was Metallica then,” Ludivine dutifully reported. Astrid shut the door to Cassian’s bedroom firmly and went back downstairs. She peeked into the study and found Michael sitting in the dark in his Arne Jacobsen armchair. “Do you mind turning it down a little? Cassian’s sleeping and it’s past midnight.”
Michael turned off the stereo with one click and remained motionless in his chair. She could tell he had been drinking, and not wanting to pick a fight, she ventured cheerily, “You missed a good time tonight. Uncle Alfred suddenly had a mad craving for durians, so we all dashed off to 717 Trading on Upper Serangoon Road to get some. I wish you could have been there—everybody knows you pick the best durians!”
Michael snorted derisively. “If you think I’m going to sit there and make idle conversation with Uncle Alfred and your father about durians…”
Astrid came into the room, turned on a lamp, and sat down on the ottoman facing him. “Listen, you can’t keep avoiding my father like this. Sooner or later you’re going to have to make peace with him.”