“Aiyah, stop asking so many questions!” Mrs. Tay scolded. “You will learn more about the family in due course—I’m sure the other servants will fill you in on all the gossip very fast. You will quickly see that it is Su Yi who rules over everything. Just work very hard and be sure that you never do anything to upset her and you’ll do fine.”
Ah Ling had done more than fine. Over the next sixty-three years, she rose from being one of twelve junior maids to become one of the Young family’s most trusted nannies—having helped raise Su Yi’s youngest children, Victoria and Alix, and then in the next generation, Nick. Now she was the head housekeeper, overseeing a staff that at its peak reached fifty-eight but for the past decade had remained at thirty-two. Today, as she sat in her quarters drinking tea and eating a few Jacob’s Cream Crackers smeared with peanut butter and Wilkin & Sons red currant jam—one of the strange Western habits she had picked up from Philip Young—a round, smiling face suddenly appeared at her window.
“Ah Tock! My God, I was just sitting here thinking of your grandmother, and suddenly you appear!” Ah Ling gasped.
“Ling Jeh, didn’t you know I had no choice but to come this afternoon? Her Imperial Highness summoned me,” Ah Tock reminded her in Cantonese.
“I had forgotten. My head is jumbled with a million things today.”
“I can only imagine! Hey, I hate to make your life more difficult, but do you mind?” Ah Tock held up a Metro shopping bag full of clothing. “These are Mama’s dresses—”
“Of course, of course,” Ah Ling said, taking the bag. Ah Tock was a cousin of the Youngs through Su Yi’s side,*2 and Ah Ling had known his mother, Bernice Tay, since she was a girl—she was the daughter of the couple who first took Ah Ling in “for training” when she arrived in Singapore. Bernice regularly smuggled some of her finer clothes to be cleaned at Tyersall Park, knowing there was a full team of launderers that washed every piece by hand, air dried them in the sun, and ironed them with lavender-scented water. There wasn’t a finer laundering service on the entire island.
“Mama wanted me to show you this sam fu…the fastening hook came off.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll have it sewn back for her. I know this vintage sam fu—Su Yi gave it to her years ago.”
Out of another bag, Ah Tock produced a bottle of Chinese rum. “Here, from Mama.”
“Hiyah, tell your mother she shouldn’t have bothered! I still haven’t finished the bottle she gave me a year ago. When do I have time to enjoy this?”
“If I had to run this place like you do, I’d be drinking every night!” Ah Tock said with a chuckle.
“Should we go up now?” Ah Ling gestured, getting out of her chair.
“Sure. How is Her Imperial Highness today?”
“Irritable, as always.”
“Hopefully I can help fix that,” Ah Tock replied cheerily. Ah Tock was a frequent presence at Tyersall Park, not because he was a beloved relation but because of his expertise in catering to the needs of his more privileged cousins. Over the past two decades, Ah Tock had smartly leveraged his family connections and founded FiveStarLobang.com, an exclusive luxury concierge service that serviced the most spoiled Singaporeans—from procuring that Beluga black Bentley Bentayga months before it hit the market to arranging covert Brazilian butt-lifts for bored mistresses.
Crossing the quadrangle that separated the servants’ wing from the main house, they passed the kitchen garden, which was meticulously planted with rows of fresh herbs and vegetables. “Oh my. Look at those little red chilli padis—I’m sure they must be extra hot!” Ah Tock exclaimed.
“Yes. Burn-your-mouth hot. Let’s not forget to pluck some for your mother. We also have too much basil right now—it’s just gone wild. Do you want some of that too?”
“I’m not sure what Mama would do with that. Isn’t it an ang mor*3 herb?”
“We use it here for the Thai dishes. The Thais use basil a lot in their cooking. And also sometimes Her Imperial Highness demands fancy ang mor food. She likes this disgusting sauce called ‘pesto.’ It takes so many of these basil leaves just to make one little batch of pesto sauce, and then she eats one tiny plate of linguine with pesto and the rest gets thrown out.”
A young maid walked past them, and switching to Mandarin, Ah Ling ordered, “Lan Lan, can you pluck a big packet of the chilli padis for Mr. Tay to take home?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl replied shyly before darting off.
“Very cute. She’s new?” Ah Tock asked.
“Yes, and she’s not going to last long. Spends too much time staring into her phone when she knows she’s not allowed. All these young China girls don’t have the same work ethic as my generation did,” Ah Ling complained, as she led Ah Tock through the kitchen, where half a dozen cooks sat around the enormous wooden worktable, deep in concentration as they meticulously folded little bits of pastry.
“Shiok!*4 You’re making pineapple tarts!” Ah Tock said.
“Yes—we always make a huge batch whenever Alfred Shang comes to town.”
“But didn’t I hear that Alfred brought over his own Singaporean chef to England? Some Hainanese hotshot?”
“Yes, but Alfred still prefers our pineapple tarts. He complains that it’s not the same when Marcus tries to make it in England…something about the flour and water being different.”
Crazy rich bastard, Ah Tock thought to himself. Even though he had been coming here for as long as he could remember, he never ceased to be awed by Tyersall Park. He had of course been into many homes of the high and mighty, but nothing else came close to this. Even the kitchen was impressive beyond belief—a series of cavernous spaces with vaulted ceilings, walls covered in beautiful majolica tiles, and rows of shimmering copper pans and perfectly seasoned woks hanging over the gigantic Aga stoves. It looked like the kitchen of some historic resort hotel in the south of France. Ah Tock remembered a story his father had told him: Back in the old days before the war, Gong Gong*5 loved entertaining—there used to be parties for three hundred people every month at Tyersall Park, and we lesser children weren’t allowed to attend, so we used to peer down at the guests from the upstairs balcony in our pajamas.