A small crowd had clustered outside the house to observe the arriving dignitaries, and as Rachel walked up, she saw Nick’s cousin Alistair waving at her.
Alistair greeted Rachel with a big bear hug before excitedly hugging Carlton and Peik Lin as well. “Peik Lin, I haven’t seen you since Rachel’s wedding! I love your new red hair! I’m so glad you guys are finally here—it’s been soooo lame inside…all anyone wants to talk about is ‘Who’s getting the house?’ And now things are about to get even stuffier,” he said, gesturing to the arriving VIPs.
“Who are those people with the president of China?” Rachel asked.
Alistair looked momentarily surprised. “Oh, you haven’t met them yet? Those people are the Imperial Shangs. The old farts are my uncle Alfred and auntie Mabel. The younger farts are my cousin Leonard and his very posh wife, India, who’s apparently descended from Mary Queen of Scots or something like that, and those are his kids, Casimir and Lucia. Doesn’t Cass look like Harry Styles from One Direction?”
Everyone laughed.
“I think Harry’s shorter,” Peik Lin quipped.
“So they all just came from China?” Rachel asked, still confused.
“No, the Shangs just had dinner with the president at the Chinese embassy. The president’s only here because of Uncle Alfred. He never knew Ah Ma, of course.”
“I believe my father knows him,” Rachel remarked.
“They’ve been good friends since their university days, and Dad serves on his standing committee,” Carlton chimed in.
“Of course, I keep forgetting your father is Bao Gaoliang,” Alistair said.
“One last question…who is that girl?” Carlton asked.
Stepping out last from the helicopter was an astonishing Eurasian beauty in her early twenties. She had waist-length, sun-streaked hair and wore a long, sleeveless black linen Rochas dress and gold sandals from Da Costanzo, looking like she had just stepped in from a beach party on Majorca.
“I think I’ve just met my future wife,” Carlton declared as he watched the girl’s hair billow around her sensationally under the draft of the helicopter rotors.
“Best of luck, mate! That’s my cousin Scheherazade Shang. She’s working on her dissertation at the Sorbonne. Brains and beauty. You know, I’ve heard there’s another dude that’s been trying to get her number for years with absolutely no success. His name’s Prince Harry.”
···
As the Shangs retreated into the house with the president of China, Rachel, Carlton, and Peik Lin followed a few paces behind. In the grand foyer, they ran into Oliver T’sien staring disapprovingly as hordes of people passed through, navigating past the hundreds of floral wreaths—some bigger than Michelin tires—that now invaded the space.
“Rachel! Wonderful to see you! Isn’t this awful?” Oliver whispered in her ear. “Singaporeans just love sending these ghastly funeral wreaths.” Rachel glanced at the card on the nearest wreath: GREAT EASTERN LIFE ASSURANCE OFFERS CONDOLENCES ON THE DEATH OF MADAM SHANG SU YI.
As they continued past the dining room where an enormous dinner buffet had been set up, Rachel could see guests standing in a long queue that snaked out the terrace doors, waiting to devour the delicacies at the various food stations. A little boy dashed past Rachel, shouting, “Auntie Doreen wants more chili craaaaab!”
“Whoa!” Rachel said, narrowly dodging the boy who was precariously clutching a heaping platter of crustaceans.
“Not what you were expecting?” Peik Lin said with a laugh.
“Not quite. It’s all so…festive,” Rachel remarked.
“It’s the funeral of the year!” Oliver quipped. “Don’t you know everyone who’s anyone wants to be here? A little earlier, a rather pushy young socialite named Serena Tang tried to take a selfie with Su Yi’s coffin. She got thrown out, of course. Here, let’s take a shortcut.” He directed them through a side door and the atmosphere changed completely.
They found themselves in the magnificent Andalusian Cloister, an enclosed courtyard surrounded by carved columns open to the sky. Rows of chairs with white slipcases had been arranged around the reflecting pool in the center of the courtyard, and the guests who gathered here murmured quietly amid the sound of the trickling water. Antique silk lamps had been placed in each of the arched alcoves surrounding the courtyard, the flickering candles within each lamp adding to the monastic stillness of the space.
At the far end of the courtyard, in front of the carved lotus blossom fountain, Su Yi’s simple black teakwood casket rested on a marble dais surrounded by orchids. In a nearby alcove, Nick, his parents, and many members of the extended Young clan stood in an informal receiving line. Nick was dressed in a white button-down shirt with black trousers, and Rachel noticed that all the men present—Nick’s father, Alistair Cheng, and a few other men she didn’t recognize—were dressed in the same manner.
“Rachel, why don’t you go to Nick first. We don’t want to disrupt your reunion,” Peik Lin suggested. Rachel nodded and descended the few steps into the courtyard toward the receiving line, feeling her stomach tense up in a sudden wave of anxiety. Nick was hugging Lucia Shang and was just about to be introduced to the president of China when he saw her approach. He quickly stepped out of the receiving line and dashed to her.
“Darling!” he said, sweeping her into an embrace.
“Oh my, did you just dis the president of China?” Rachel asked.
“Did I? Oh well, who cares? You’re far more important.” Nick laughed, and taking Rachel by the hand, led her to the receiving line and announced proudly, “Everyone—my wife has arrived!”
Rachel immediately felt every eye in the room turn to take her in. Philip and Eleanor welcomed Rachel and the avalanche of introductions began. Nick’s uncles, aunts, and cousins from all the various branches greeted her far more warmly than she had expected, and suddenly Rachel found herself face-to-face with the president of China. Before she could say anything, Nick stepped forward and announced in Mandarin, “This is my wife. I believe her father, Bao Gaoliang, serves on your standing committee?”
The president looked momentarily startled, and then he broke into a wide grin. “You’re Gaoliang’s daughter? The economics professor from New York? It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. My God, you look just like your brother, Carlton.”
“He’s right over there,” Rachel replied in perfect Mandarin, waving her brother over.
“Carlton Bao, you seem to be everywhere these days! Didn’t I just see you at my daughter’s birthday dinner two nights ago? I hope you’re flying on air miles,” the president said in mock seriousness.
“Of course, sir,” Carlton replied. He beamed at the gathered group, making sure to catch Scheherazade’s eye.
Alfred Shang, who had observed the whole scene silently, looked at Rachel and Carlton with a newfound curiosity.