“So how did she do it?” Kitty asked.
“She ruled indirectly through her five-year-old son, who succeeded to the throne as emperor. And after he died as a teenager, she adopted another boy and put him on the throne so she could rule through him. As the Empress Dowager, court etiquette decreed that she wasn’t even allowed to be seen by men, so she took all her meetings with her ministers from behind a silk screen. You could learn a great deal from Cixi, you know. You need to bide your time and solidify your position by being the best mother to Harvard that you can possibly be. You need to be the most influential person in his life, and in time, he’ll come to rule the Bing empire and you will be the power behind the throne. Throughout history, Kitty, the people who wielded the most power weren’t always the ones who were in the spotlight. Dowager Empress Cixi, Cardinal Richelieu, Cosimo de’ Medici. These are the people who flew under the radar in their own time, but they amassed all the power and influence through patience, intelligence, and stealth.”
“Patience, intelligence, and stealth,” Kitty repeated. Suddenly she rolled over and sat up on the massage bed, the hot stones rolling off her back and scattering onto the floor as Elenya scurried to pick them up. “Has the contract to buy Tyersall Park been signed yet?”
“I think the lawyers are still drafting the agreement.”
“So it’s not a done deal?”
“No. There’s a gentleman’s agreement, but it won’t be official until the contracts are actually signed.” Oliver wondered where she was going with all this.
“Didn’t you tell me that there were other interested parties in Tyersall Park before Jack bought it?”
“Well yes, my cousin Nick was trying to buy it, but he never managed to scrape up enough money to match Jack’s offer.”
“How much did he need?”
“I think he was short about four billion dollars.”
Kitty’s eyes gleamed. “What if I became a secret investor in the house? What if I put in the money and stole this house away from Jack?”
Oliver stared at her in surprise. “Kitty, do you have that kind of money on your own?”
“I got two billion in my divorce settlement from Bernard, and I invested all that money in Amazon. Do you know how much those shares have gone up in the past year? I have more than five billion dollars, and it’s just all sitting there in an account managed by the Liechtenburg Group,” Kitty proudly announced.
Oliver leaned forward in his armchair. “You’d really be willing to invest all that money in a deal with my cousin?”
“You’d still get your commission either way, wouldn’t you?”
“I would, but I’d just be concerned about you putting so much of your own money into one venture.”
Kitty went quiet for a moment, touched that Oliver cared for her beyond her money. “It will be worth every last cent just to know that Colette doesn’t get her hands on that house!”
“Well, let me make a few calls.” Oliver unbuckled his seat belt and left the spa cabin. Five minutes later, he returned with a smirk on his face. “Kitty, there’s been the most interesting development. I just spoke to my cousin Nicky. It turns out that Tyersall Park has been deemed a national historic landmark, and he and a group of partners are putting together a radical new proposal to challenge Jack Bing’s offer.”
“Does this mean Colette won’t get it either?”
“Well, that’s very likely. However, they are desperate for one more investor. They’re short three billion dollars.”
“Only three billion? Sounds like a deal.”
“Should I call the cockpit and get them to turn this plane around?”
“Why not?”
Oliver picked up the phone by the console. “There’s been a change of plans. We need to get to Singapore, and fast.”
“Not too fast. I want to get back to my hot-stone massage,” Kitty purred, as she stretched languidly onto her massage bed again.
EPILOGUE
TYERSALL PARK, SINGAPORE
ONE YEAR LATER…
“I can’t wait to see the bride. I wonder which designer she chose to do her gown?” Jacqueline Ling said to Oliver T’sien at the reception before the intimate wedding ceremony. Two hundred guests invited by the happy couple’s families milled about the Andalusian Cloister, enjoying cocktails and canapés while admiring the mesmerizing light installation created by artist James Turrell in the columned arcades surrounding the courtyard.
“Let’s make a bet,” Oliver ventured.
“The way you’re rolling in money these days, I’m not sure if I want to bet against you. Congratulations on your new commission in Abu Dhabi, by the way.”
“Thank you. It’s just one palace for now. The princess was so impressed by what we did here that she’s put me on an embarrassingly large retainer. Anyway, let’s make the bet for lunch at Daphne’s the next time we’re both in London, and my money’s on Giambattista Valli,” Oliver said.
“Okay, lunch at Daphne’s. Well, I wager that the bride’s gown will be designed by Alexis Mabille. I know how much she adores his work.”
The string quartet that had been playing suddenly stopped as the door at the far end of the courtyard opened to reveal a dashing young fellow in a tuxedo holding a violin to his chin.
“Oh look, it’s Charlie Siem! He’s popping up everywhere these days, isn’t he?” Oliver commented as the absurdly handsome virtuoso strolled along the arcade playing Elgar’s “Salut d’amour.” The doors at the other end of the arcade opened slowly, and Charlie strolled through, turning around to beckon the guests to follow him as he continued to play. Outside, a pathway lit with thousands of votive candles led from the rose garden past the stunning new saltwater swimming pool lined with thirteenth-century Moorish tiles into the wooded area of the estate.
Following the musician as he ambled along merrily playing his violin, the guests oohed and aahed when they reached the lily pond, where black wooden chairs had been arranged in a crescent along one side of the pond. Hundreds of pale pink lanterns hung from the trees, cascading down branches and mixing with thousands of hanging vines that had been festooned with white dendrobium orchids, peonies, and white jasmine. A beautiful arched bridge built just for the wedding extended from one side of the pond to the other, covered entirely in different-hued roses, making the whole bridge appear as if it had been painted with impressionistic brushstrokes like one of Monet’s bridges at Giverny.