“We’re going to one of the best restaurants in Singapore, and it’s with the IBM people.”
“Just because André is a top restaurant doesn’t mean it’s formal. I thought this was just a casual business dinner with a few of your clients.”
“It is, but the bigwig is flying in and he’s bringing his wife, who’s supposedly very chic.”
Astrid shot Michael a look. Had aliens secretly abducted her husband and replaced him with some finicky fashion editor? In the six years they had been married, Michael had never made a single comment about what she wore. He had, on certain occasions, grunted that something looked “sexy” or “pretty” on her, but he had never used a word like “chic.” Until today, it wasn’t part of his vocabulary.
Astrid dabbed a little rose essential oil onto her neck and said, “If the wife is as chic as you say, she will probably appreciate this Altuzarra dress—it’s a runway look that never went into production, which I’m wearing with Tabitha Simmons silk stripe sandals, Line Vautrin gold earrings, and my Peranakan gold bracelet.”
“Maybe it’s all the gold. It looks a bit kan chia*1 to me. Couldn’t you swap it out for diamonds or something?”
“There’s nothing kan chia about this bracelet—it’s actually part of an heirloom suite that my great-aunt Matilda Leong bequeathed to me, which is now on loan to the Asian Civilisations Museum. They are dying for me to let them display this piece too, but I held on to it for sentimental reasons.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend your auntie. And I’m not a fashion guerrilla or whatever like you. This is one of the most important business deals I’ve ever been involved in, but please wear what you want. I’ll be downstairs waiting,” Michael said in a patronizing tone.
Astrid sighed. She knew all this fuss had something to do with that silly Hong Kong gossip columnist’s barb about Michael needing to upgrade his wife’s jewelry. Even though he denied it, the comment must have gotten under his skin. She made her way to the vault, punched in the nine-digit code to open the door, and peered inside. Damn, the earrings she was thinking of were at the big vault at OCBC Bank. The only thing she had of any significant size at home was a pair of gargantuan Wartski diamond-and-emerald pendant earrings that her grandmother had inexplicably handed her after mah-jongg at Tyersall Park the other day. The emeralds on each side were almost the size of walnuts. Apparently the last time her grandmother had worn them was at King Bhumibol of Thailand’s coronation in 1950. Well, if Michael really wants a Busby Berkeley showstopper, that’s what he’s going to get. But what outfit could possibly go with these earrings?
Astrid scanned her closet and pulled out a black Yves Saint Laurent jumpsuit with a drawstring waist and jet beaded sleeves. This was just dressy and yet simple enough to complement a pair of outrageously bling earrings. She would wear them with a pair of Alaïa ankle boots to give the whole look an extra edge. Astrid felt a little lump in her throat as she put the jumpsuit on—she had never worn it before because it was too precious to her. It was from Yves’s final couture collection in 2002, and though she was only twenty-three when she had her fitting for this, it still draped against her body more perfectly than almost anything else she owned. God, I miss Yves.
Astrid headed downstairs to the nursery, where she found Michael keeping Cassian company at the children’s dining table while he ate his spaghetti with meatballs.
“Wow, vous êtes top, madame!” Cassian’s nanny exclaimed as Astrid entered.
“Merci, Ludivine.”
“Saint Laurent?”
“Qui d’autre?”
Ludivine placed her hand on her chest and shook her head in awe. (She could not wait to try it on as soon as madame left the house tomorrow.)
Astrid turned to Michael. “Is this good enough to impress your IBM bigwig?”
“Where on earth did you get those earrings? Tzeen or keh?”*2 Michael exclaimed.
“Tzeen! My grandmother just gave them to me,” Astrid replied, slightly annoyed that Michael only noticed the earrings and failed to appreciate the subtle genius of her jumpsuit.
“Wah lan!*3 Van Cleef and Ah Ma strikes again.”
Astrid winced. Michael had punished Cassian for using cuss words, and yet here he was swearing like a sailor right in front of him.
“Look—doesn’t Mummy look pretty tonight?” Michael said to Cassian, pinching a meatball from his bowl and popping it into his mouth.
“Yes. Mummy always looks pretty,” Cassian said. “And stop stealing my meatballs!”
Astrid melted instantly. How could she be annoyed at Michael when he looked so cute sitting in the little chair next to Cassian? Things had gotten much better between father and son since she returned from Venice. After kissing Cassian goodbye, the two of them headed outside to the front driveway, where their chauffeur, Youssef, was doing a final polish on the chrome work of Michael’s 1961 red Ferrari California Spyder.
Jesus, he’s really out to impress tonight, Astrid thought.
“Thanks for changing, hon. It really means a lot to me,” Michael said as he held open the car door.
Astrid nodded as she climbed in. “If you think it makes any difference, I’m happy to help.”
They drove in silence at first, enjoying the balmy breeze through the open top, but as he turned onto Holland Road, Michael picked up the conversation again. “How much do you think your earrings are worth?”
“Probably more than this car.”
“I paid $8.9 mil for this ’Rari. You really think your earrings are worth more? We should get them valued.”