The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

Daisy’s and Nadine’s jaws dropped, and even Lorena—whose family owned an international chain of jewelers—couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer variety and magnificence of the pieces. There were easily hundreds of millions’ worth of jewels just lying on the ground in front of them.

Mrs. Singh breezed into the room, a swish of chiffon trailing behind her. “Come in, ladies. Don’t be shy, and please feel free to try anything on.”

“Are you serious?” Nadine asked, her pulse beginning to race.

“Yes, yes. When it comes to jewels, I ascribe to the Elizabeth Taylor school of thought—jewels should be worn and enjoyed, not stared at from behind a glass case.”

Before Mrs. Singh could even finish her sentence, Nadine had instinctively grabbed one of the biggest pieces on display—a necklace comprised of twelve strands of ridiculously oversize pearls and diamonds. “Oh my GOD-ness, it’s all one necklace!”

“Yes, it’s such a silly thing. Believe it or not, Garrard made it for my grandfather for Queen Victoria’s Jubilee, and since he weighed over three hundred pounds, it draped nicely across his entire belly. But how can you even wear such a thing in public these days?” Mrs. Singh said as she struggled to fasten the enormous baroque pearl clasp behind Nadine’s neck.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Nadine said excitedly, a little bubble of spit forming at the corner of her mouth as she gazed at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her entire torso was smothered in diamonds and pearls.

“You’ll get a backache if you have it on for more than fifteen minutes,” Mrs. Singh warned.

“Oh, it’s worth it! It’s worth it!” Nadine panted as she began to try on a cuff bracelet made entirely of cabochon rubies.

“Now this I like,” Daisy said, picking out an exquisite brooch in the shape of a peacock feather inlaid with lapis, emeralds, and sapphires that perfectly matched a peacock’s natural hues.

Mrs. Singh smiled. “That was my dear mama’s. Cartier designed it for her in the early 1920s. I remember she used to wear it in her hair!”

Two maids entered bearing bowls of freshly made gulab jamun,*10 and the ladies began enjoying the sinfully sweet treat in one of the corners of the room. Carol finished her dessert in two bites and looked into her silver dessert bowl rather wistfully. “I thought all this would make me happier, but I probably should have just gone to church instead.”

“Aiyah, what’s the matter, Carol?” Lorena asked.

“Take a guess, lor. It’s that son of mine. Ever since Dato’ died, I’ve hardly seen or heard from Bernard. It’s as if I don’t exist anymore. I’ve only met my granddaughter twice since she was born—first time at Gleneagles Hospital, and then when they came back for Dato’s funeral. Now Bernard doesn’t even return my calls. The maids tell me that he is still in Macau, but that wife of his is flying off somewhere else every day. Her baby is not even three and she is neglecting her already! Every week I open the paper and see some news about her at this party or that party, or buying something new. Did you hear about that painting she bought for almost two hundred million?”

Daisy looked at her sympathetically. “Aiyah, Carol, I’ve learned over the years to stop listening to all the stories about my children’s spending. Wah mai chup.*11 At a certain point, you have to let them make their own choices. After all, they can afford it.”

“But that’s precisely my worry—they can’t afford it. Where are they getting all this money from?”

“Didn’t Bernard gain control of all the businesses when Dato’ died?” Nadine asked, suddenly more interested in Carol’s story than in the gold-and-cognac diamond sautoir she was holding up to the sunlight.

“Of course not. Do you think my husband would be foolish enough to put Bernard in control while I’m still alive? He knows that boy would sell my own house from under me and leave me on the roadside if he could! After Bernard ran off with Kitty to Las Vegas to get married, Dato’ was furious. He forbid anyone in the family office from giving Bernard access to any money and totally locked up his trust fund. He cannot touch the principal—only the annual income.”

“So how did they afford to buy that painting?” Lorena asked.

“They must be spending on overdraft. The banks all know how much he’ll be worth one day, so they are only too happy to lend to him now,” Eleanor conjectured as she fiddled with a bejeweled Indian dagger.

“Aiyoh, so shameful! I can’t imagine my son ever having to borrow money from a bank!” Carol moaned.

“Well, if you say he doesn’t have any money right now, I can assure you that is what he must be doing. That’s what one of Philip’s cousins did. He was living like the Sultan of Brunei, and only when his father died did they realize he had mortgaged the house, mortgaged everything, to support his lifestyle and his two mistresses—one in Hong Kong and one in Taipei!” Eleanor said.

“Bernard has no money. He only gets about ten million a year to live on,” Carol confirmed.

“Well, definitely they must be borrowing heavily, because that Kitty seems to be spending like a siow tsah bor,”*12 Daisy said. “What’s that you’re playing with, Elle?”

“It’s some unusual Indian dagger,” Eleanor replied. It was actually two daggers that went into opposite ends of a scabbard encrusted in cloudy, colorful gems, and she had flicked the latch open on one end and was absentmindedly sliding the small sharp knife in and out. Looking around for her hostess, she said, “Mrs. Singh, tell me about this lovely little weapon.”

Mrs. Singh, who was seated on the corner of a nearby divan chatting with another guest, glanced over for a moment.

“Oh that’s not a weapon. It’s a very ancient Hindu relic. Be careful not to open it, Eleanor, it’s very bad luck! In fact, you shouldn’t even be touching it. There is an evil spirit that’s being held captive in there by the two knives, and a great misfortune will befall your firstborn if you unleash it. Now, we don’t want anything to happen to dear Nicky, do we? So please leave that alone.”

The ladies looked at her in horror, and for one of the few times in her life, Eleanor was absolutely speechless.

* * *

*1 Hokkien for “troublesome.”