“Carlton likes to go very fast. He used to race.” Colette took a bite of her grilled octopus and gave him an innocent look across the table.
Scheherazade glanced at Carlton, noticing the tension on his face.
“Oh dear. Have you ever been in an accident?” India asked, making up her mind right then that Scheherazade should never ride in this young man’s car again.
“Actually, I have,” Carlton replied.
“What happened? Hope you didn’t wreck one of those million-dollar sports cars.” Lucien laughed.
“It was a very unfortunate accident. But it taught me to be extremely careful. I don’t race anymore,” Carlton said.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Scheherazade said with a little smile.
“Well,” Colette interjected with a glint in her eye, “when you kill one girl and paralyze another from the waist down, it’s probably best not to, isn’t it?”
While Leonard Shang choked on his chardonnay and his wife froze as if she had just been turned into a pillar of salt, Colette flashed a smile at Carlton. It was a smile he knew only too well, and at that moment he realized that Colette Bing might call herself the Countess of Palliser these days, but she hadn’t changed one fucking bit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE PEAK, HONG KONG
Chloe made the call from her bathroom, with the shower turned on full blast. “Dad, you said to call…you know…if Mum was ever acting weird again.”
Charlie felt his gut tighten. “What happened? Are you and Delphine okay?”
“Um, we’re fine. But maybe you should come over.”
Charlie looked at his watch. It was just past eleven at night. “I’m leaving my office right this second. Be there in fifteen minutes! Do me a favor, honey. Stay with your mother?”
“Um, okay.”
Charlie could hear the fear in her voice. He raced to the house in his Porsche 911, the sports car careening dangerously along the hairpin curves and steep hills all the way up to The Peak. He speed-dialed Isabel’s lead security officer, Jonny Fung, from his Bluetooth but it went straight to voice mail. All the while, his heart was beating a mile a minute as he dreaded what he would find when he arrived at the house. Isabel had been doing so well. Was this really another breakdown, or did she stop taking her meds again?
A few blocks from the house, Charlie got caught in a traffic jam as cars waited bumper to bumper. He leaned on his horn anxiously, and then decided, fuck it, he would cut onto the oncoming traffic lane. He raced past the line of cars and discovered that they were all trying to go to the same place—Isabel’s house. There was a cluster of people in front of the gates as Charlie pulled up. He jumped out of the car and approached the security guards stationed by the gate. “What the hell is happening?”
“Private party,” one of the guards said in Cantonese.
“Party? Tonight? I’m going in.”
“Wait a second, are you on the list? What’s your name?” the baby-faced guard asked, holding an iPad with a list of names glowing on the screen.
“My name? Jesus, get out of my face!” Charlie seethed, pushing past him and running down the driveway. Just as he reached the porte cochere of the house, three bodyguards in black suits suddenly appeared out of nowhere and jumped on top of him. “Got the crasher!” One of the guards said into his earpiece as he pinned Charlie’s face to the ground.
“Get off me! This is my house!” Charlie grunted as one of the guards held him in a knee-lock.
“Yeah right,” the guards laughed mockingly.
“Get Mr. Fung out here now! I’m Charlie Wu and this is my house! I sign all your paychecks!”
At the mention of their boss’s name, one of the guards started talking urgently into his earpiece. Moments later, the head of security came out of the house and began shouting, “That’s Mr. Wu! Get off him, you fucking morons!”
Charlie got up from the ground and brushed the dirt off his face. “Jonny, what the fuck is going on here? Why aren’t you picking up your phone?”
“Sorry, I was inside, and it’s very loud in there,” Jonny apologized. “Mrs. Wu decided to have the party just this afternoon. It’s a benefit for the earthquake victims in Yunnan Province.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Charlie muttered as he entered the house. There were at least fifty people crowded in the foyer, and a man suddenly grabbed him from behind and gave him a full-on bear hug. “Charlie! You’re here!” It was Pascal Pang, his face inexplicably powdered white, with rouge on his cheeks. “I was just telling Tilda that I’ve never seen such a pleasant divorce as you and Isabel had. Look, he even comes to her parties! My ex-wives won’t even take my calls, hahaha.”
Charlie was bewildered as a pale, thin woman with uniquely androgynous features dressed in a silver jumpsuit smiled at him sweetly. “So you’re Charlie! Astrid’s told me so much about you,” she said in a lilting British accent.
“Has she? Excuse me, I just need to find someone.” Charlie squeezed through the crowded foyer and into the sprawling formal room, which had been utterly transformed into a dark, funereal space. All of Isabel’s pretty French furniture had been covered in black fabric, and even the walls were draped in black. Guests sat at little black bistro tables lit with red votive candles, and a woman dressed in a long deep red velvet dress lay on top of the grand piano with a microphone in her hand. As the pianist tickled the keys, she sang in a deep, throaty voice,
“Fawwwwwwl-ling in love again, never wanted to,
what am I to do, I can’t help it…”
Charlie spotted Isabel at one of the front tables, dressed in a man’s tuxedo with her hair slicked back, sitting on the lap of a male model who looked to be no older than twenty-five. Chloe and Delphine stood behind her, dressed in matching outfits of black vests, black shorts with garter belts, and black bowler hats, looking extremely uncomfortable. Chloe’s face lit up in relief the moment she saw her father.
Charlie marched up to Isabel’s table and demanded, “Can we talk?”
“Shh! Ute Lemper’s singing!” Isabel said, waving him off.
“We really need to talk now,” Charlie said as calmly as possible, grabbing her arm and leading her to the back of the room.
“What is your problem? We have one of the greatest chanteuses in the world right here, and you’re interrupting!” Isabel’s breath reeked of vodka, and Charlie looked into her eyes, trying to figure out if she was just drunk or having a manic episode.
“Isabel, it’s Thursday night. Why are you hosting a party for two hundred people right now, and what on earth did you make the girls put on?”
“Don’t you get it? This is the Weimar Republic. It’s 1931 Berlin and we’re at the Kit Kat Club. Chloe and Delphine are both dressed like Sally Bowles!”