Nick couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation. “So we’ve both been excommunicated, as if we were the devil’s spawn.”
“Yep. We’re the friggin’ Children of the Corn. But what can we do? Mum doesn’t want anything at all to risk upsetting Ah Ma right now.”
“I think Ah Ma would be more upset that you’re not there by her bedside,” Nick said indignantly.
Astrid’s eyes brimmed with tears. “We’re losing precious time with her, Nicky. Every day, she’s fading away more and more.”
* * *
*1 Originally an area of orchards and nutmeg plantations during the colonial era, Emerald Hill was developed into a residential neighborhood for Peranakan families in the early twentieth century. These Peranakans—or Straits Chinese, the term that was used for them in the era—were English educated (many of them at Oxford and Cambridge) and intensely loyal to the British colonial government. Serving as the middlemen between the British and Chinese, they grew rich and powerful as a result, as was clearly evidenced in the opulent shop houses they built.
*2 Although the Hokkien phrase literally translates to “redhaired dog shit go to drink alcohol,” it can be interpreted as “that street where the Eurotrash go to get drunk.”
*3 Deceptively simple, as it turns out—Astrid was wearing a perfectly constructed ribbed jersey tank from The Row over a vintage Jasper Conran black silk skirt in a festive tiered rah-rah design.
CHAPTER NINE
TYERSALL PARK, SINGAPORE
Eddie walked down the east corridor on the way to his grandmother’s bedroom, admiring the cluster of old photographs that had been hung salon-style over a damask-covered settee. In the center was a framed oversize print of his great-grandfather Shang Loong Ma posing next to several enormous elephant tusks and a jewel-turbaned maharaja after a safari in India. Next to that hung a studio portrait of his grandfather Sir James Young in the late thirties, looking every inch the matinee idol in his houndstooth jacket and white fedora, and improbably clutching a Norwich terrier in his arms. How dapper he looked! Who made that blazer for him? Could it be Huntsman, or Davies & Son? Eddie wondered. I wish I had known him back then. Of all his grandsons, I’m obviously the only one who inherited his style.
Lower down on the wall was a long, rectangular photo of his grandmother Su Yi wearing a tea dress, sprawled elegantly on a picnic blanket in what looked like the Jardin du Luxembourg. Next to her were two French ladies, and each of them clutched intricate lace parasols that appeared to be straining against a gust of wind. The two ladies were laughing, but Su Yi stared straight into the camera, perfectly composed. How beautiful she had been in her youth. Eddie scrutinized the signature that had been scrawled at the bottom of the print: J. H. Lartigue. Holy fuckballs, did the great French photographer Jacques Henri Lartigue really take this picture of Ah Ma? Jesus, this is priceless. I must have it for my office. It could go right next to my Cartier-Bresson print of the boy holding the wine bottles. No one else would appreciate this photograph like I would. If I took this photo and replaced it with one of the others hanging on the other wall, would anyone notice?
Eddie looked around the corner to see if any of the maids were skulking nearby. There were so many goddamn maids everywhere, no one had any privacy to steal a thing in this house. That’s when he heard the slow, deep moan. Ooaahhh!!! Ooooaaaahhh! It was coming from a door halfway down the hallway that had been left slightly ajar. Eddie quickly realized it was the suite where his cousin Adam and Piya Aakara were staying. He knew that Thais could be kinky, but would they really leave the door ajar like this while they were having their morning nooky? Anyone coming down this corridor could hear them. Then again, if that sexy Piya was his wife, he’d ride her into next week and not give a damn if the whole house could hear.
Eddie crept closer to the door, and a woman’s voice could be heard giggling. Suddenly, another guttural voice could be heard moaning over the first one. Gwaahhh! Gwaahhh! Wait a minute, there were two guys in the room. And then the second male voice moaned, Oh yeah, right there! Go deeper! Gwaaaaahhh! Eddie’s eyes widened as he recognized that voice. It was his brother, Alistair. What the fucky fuck was happening? Was Alistair having a ménage à trois with his Thai cousins right under his grandmother’s roof, while she lay dying? The sacrilege! Whenever he came to visit his grandmother, he always had the common decency of checking his latest mistress in to the Shangri-La Hotel nearby. He would never think of sleeping with anyone that wasn’t his wife in his dear Ah Ma’s house.
Eddie barged into the room in a self-righteous fit. “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DO—” he began, and then he stopped in surprise. Piya was seated on the chaise lounge sipping her morning cappuccino, coolly elegant in a sleeveless kelly green silk faille top with matching faille pencil pants from Rosie Assoulin. Eddie swung around and discovered the most curious sight. Sitting at the foot of the silver-enameled four-poster bed was Alistair, stripped to the waist, and leaning over him was Uncle Taksin, digging his elbows deep into Alistair’s shoulders. Adam lay facedown naked on the bed while his mother straddled his thighs, massaging his lower back with coconut oil.
“Ooaahhh!” Adam groaned, as Piya continued to giggle.
“I told you boys to do some stretches before your badminton match, but you didn’t listen, did you?” Catherine chided, as she rubbed Adam’s lower back vigorously.
“Duuude, Uncle Taksin is giving me the best Thai massage on the planet! You really should try it,” Alistair said.
Eddie stared at the scene in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that the Thai prince was giving his brother a massage. “Um, shouldn’t your maids be doing this?”
“No…Mummy’s the best.” Adam sighed through his pillow.
Piya laughed. “All the Aakara boys have been spoiled by their parents giving them massages since they were little. Adam doesn’t even like it when I try to massage him—only Mummy will do.”
Catherine looked up at Eddie, her chin smeared with a drop of coconut oil as she kneaded her fingers deep into Adam’s butt muscles. “Do you want a massage? I’m almost done here.”
“Er…no, I’m fine, thanks. I’m not sore—I…I…only played the first set, remember?” Eddie stuttered, uncomfortable at seeing his auntie touch her own son down there.
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” Alistair sighed contentedly.
“I’m just on my way to see Ah Ma,” Eddie said, backing out of the room as fast as he could. Those Aakaras were such strange people. Imagine, giving their children massages when they had a posse of prostrating servants at their beck and call! He could hardly believe that Auntie Cat and his mother were sisters—they were such polar opposites. His mother was always so poised and ladylike, while Cat was this no-nonsense woman with tomboyish ways. Her arms, her face—practically the whole front of her body was smeared with coconut oil as she gave her son a massage. His mother didn’t even like putting moisturizer on her own hands. How the hell did Cat ever manage to snag a prince? Of all the sisters, his mother had clearly made the worst match, not including old maid Auntie Victoria, of course.
He entered his grandmother’s private study and saw his father huddled in conversation with Professor Oon. Malcolm Cheng was one of Asia’s most respected heart surgeons, and had only recently retired as the chief of the Cardiology Centre at Hong Kong Sanatorium. Professor Oon was one of his protégés, and he was obviously keeping close tabs on Su Yi’s condition.
“How’s the patient doing today?” Eddie said cheerily.
“Don’t interrupt when I’m talking!” His father scowled at him, turning back to Professor Oon. “And I’m really not happy with the fluid buildup in her lungs.”
“I know, Malcolm,” Professor Oon murmured worriedly.
Eddie went into the bedroom, where he found his mother rearranging the vases of flowers that had been sent to Su Yi. Every day, several dozen new arrangements were delivered to the house, along with cases upon cases of Brand’s Essence of Chicken.