“Oh, Madame Bing, I’m so sorry, but this dress is already spoken for.” Luka smiled at her apologetically.
“Well, make me another one. I mean another three, of course.”
“I’m afraid we cannot make you this exact dress.”
Kitty looked at him, not quite comprehending. “Oh, I’m sure you can.”
“Madame, I hope you will understand…Giamba would be happy to collaborate with you on another dress, in the same spirit, but we cannot replicate this one. This is a one-of-a-kind piece made for a special client of ours. She is from China also—”
“I’m not from China, I’m from Singapore,” Kitty declared.*3
“Who is this ‘special client’?” Wandi demanded, her thick mane of Beyoncé-bronzed hair shaking indignantly.
“She’s a friend of Giamba’s, so I only know her by her first name: Colette.”
The ladies suddenly fell silent, not daring to ask what they wanted to ask. Wandi finally piped up. “Er…are you referring to Colette Bing?”
“I’m not sure if that is her surname. Let me check the spec sheet.” He turned over a leaf of paper. “Ah yes, it is Bing. Une telle coïncidence! Is she related to you, Madame Bing?” Luka asked.
Kitty looked like a deer caught in headlights. Was Luka kidding? Surely he must know that Colette was her husband’s daughter from his first marriage.
Tatiana quickly jumped in. “No, she’s not. But we know of her.”
“Do we ever.” Wandi sniffed, wondering whether she should tell Luka how Colette’s bitch-from-hell video tirade had gone viral in China, logging more than thirty-six million views on WeChat alone, making her such a notorious poster child of fuerdai*4 bad behavior that she was forced to flee to London in disgrace. Wandi decided that it was better not to bring it up now.
“So this dress is for Colette,” Kitty said, fondling one of the gossamer-like organdy sleeves.
“Yes, it’s going to be her wedding dress.” Luka smiled.
Kitty looked up at him, stunned. “Colette is getting married?”
“Oh yes, madame, it’s the talk of the town. She’s marrying Lucien Montagu-Scott.”
“Montagu-Scott? What does his family do?” Wandi asked, since everything in her universe revolved around being part of an incredibly rich Indonesian family.
“I don’t know anything about his famille, but I believe he’s a lawyer?” Luka said.
Tatiana immediately began googling his name, and read aloud from the first link that popped up: “Lucien Montagu-Scott is one of Britain’s new generation of environmental lawyers. A graduate of the Magdalen College—”
“It’s pronounced ‘Maudlin,’?” Georgina corrected.
“Maudlin College, Oxford, Lucien sailed across the Pacific on a catamaran made out of 12,500 reclaimed plastic bottles with his friend David Mayer de Rothschild to highlight the problem of global marine pollution. More recently, he has been involved in publicizing the environmental crisis in Indonesia and Borneo—”
“I think I’m going to fall asleep,” Tatiana scoffed.
“He’s a charming gentleman—comes with her to every fitting,” Luka remarked.
“I can’t imagine why Colette Bing of all people would end up settling for this guy. He’s not even an M&A lawyer—his annual salary probably wouldn’t even pay for one of her dresses! I guess she must be desperate to have mixed-race babies,” Georgina said, glancing covertly at Kitty, hoping she wasn’t too upset by the news. Kitty just stood staring at the dress, her expression inscrutable.
“Oooh…I want to have a beautiful mixed-race baby too! Luka, do you know any hot single French counts?” Wandi asked.
“I’m sorry, mademoiselle. The only comte I know is married.”
“Married is fine…I’m married too, but I would dump my boring hubby if I could get a beautiful half-French baby!” Wandi giggled.
“Wandi, careful what you wish for. You never know what sort of baby you’ll get,” Tatiana said.
“No, if you have a baby with a Caucasian man, you’re almost guaranteed it will be attractive. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance it will look like Keanu Reeves. That’s why so many Asian women are desperate to find white husbands.”