The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy
“It’s such a trip, all that’s missing are the quaaludes!” Michael Kors*2 said.
At some point during the social swirl, Araminta appeared at her side with a glass of champagne. “I thought you could use this. I can see you’ve been circulating nonstop.”
“Oh thank you. Yes, everyone has been soooo nice, except for that awful Englishman over there talking to Hung Huang.”
“Philip? But he’s usually so charming!” Araminta furrowed her brow in surprise.
“Charming? Do you know what that snob said to me? When I asked him what he did, he actually dared to say, ‘I’m a millionaire!’?”
Araminta clutched Kitty’s arm and doubled over in laughter. Trying to catch her breath, she said, “No, no, you’re mistaken!”
Kitty continued her tirade, “So I said to him, ‘Well, I’m a billionaire!’?”
Wiping the tears of laughter away from her eyes, Araminta explained. “Kitty, that man is Philip Treacy. He’s not a millionaire, he’s a milliner—a hat designer. I’m sure that’s what he told you. He’s one of the best milliners there is—Perrineum Wang is wearing one of his hats right over there.”
Kitty gazed at the young Shanghai socialite, who was sporting a gigantic flesh-colored disk with a bejeweled starfish of pink rubies in the middle that covered eighty percent of her face. “No wonder he gave me a strange look.”
“Oh Kitty, you can always crack me up!” Araminta was still laughing when a pair of hands reached out from behind her and covered her eyes.
“Oh, who’s this?” Araminta giggled.
“Three guesses,” a man whispered into her ear in an extremely affected French accent.
“Bernard?”
“Non.”
“Er…Antoine?”
“Non.”
“Surely it can’t be Delphine? I give up!” Araminta whipped around and saw a patrician-looking Chinese man in a three-piece suit and small round tortoiseshell glasses grinning back at her.
“Oliver T’sien, you rascal! You had me fooled with that ridiculous accent.” Araminta giggled. “Oliver, have you met the chatelaine of this…er…magnificent estate, Kitty Bing?”
“I was hoping you’d introduce me,” Oliver purred.
“Kitty, this is Oliver T’sien. He’s an old friend from Singapore…and…aren’t we somehow related now through Colin? Oliver is related to practically everyone who’s anyone in Asia, and he’s also the consultant at large for Christie’s.”
Kitty shook his hand politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You work for Christie’s, the auction house?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Oliver is one of the top specialists in Asian art and antiquities,” Araminta continued.
“Hmm…there’s a little horse sculpture in the library I would love to show you. My husband is convinced it’s from the Tang dynasty, but I think it’s a fake. His ex-wife bought it,” Kitty said derisively.
“I am at your service, madame,” Oliver said, extending an arm. They walked into the library, and Kitty led him to a magnificent Macassar and Gabon Boulle armoire in one corner. She pressed against the tortoiseshell-and-gilt-bronze marquetry doors, which opened to reveal a hidden entryway into Jack Bing’s private cigar lounge.
“Well, this is quite splendid!” Oliver exclaimed, looking around the decadently upholstered room.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Kitty sank into one of the tasseled velvet Louis-Napoléon smoking chairs and breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad we’re finally alone! How do you think it’s going?”
Unbeknownst to any of her guests, and especially to friends like Araminta, Kitty knew Oliver rather well—he had been secretly advising her for the past couple of years and had been instrumental in helping her acquire The Palace of Eighteen Perfections, a set of prized Chinese scrolls that had broken auction records two years ago to become the most expensive Chinese artwork ever sold.
“You have nothing to worry about. Everyone is most impressed. Did you notice that Anna actually took her sunglasses off for a moment to scrutinize your Qianlong dragon vessel?”
“No, I missed that!” Kitty said excitedly.