“China? What’s his name?” Rachel asked.
Felicity frowned. “If I recall correctly, I think Oliver said his name was Jack something. Jack Ting? Jack Ping?”
Nick put his hand on his forehead in dismay. “Oh God—Jack Bing.”
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER…
KUALA LUMPUR, MALAYSIA
“So, she is the queen?”
“No, Kitty, she is the mother of the current Sultan of Perawak, so she’s the Queen Mother but she’s called the Dowager Sultana,” Oliver explained through his headset microphone as they rode together in the helicopter.
“Ah. So I have to curtsy to her?”
“You certainly do. She’s as royal as it gets. And remember, only speak when you are spoken to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re not allowed to speak to her. The sultana initiates the conversation and gets to do all the talking—you simply keep your pretty mouth shut until she asks you a question. And if you have to leave the room for any reason—which you really shouldn’t before she does—but if you feel the sudden urge to vomit, make sure to walk out of the room facing her. The sultana must never see your ass, so you are never to turn your back on her, understood?”
Kitty nodded diligently. “I understand—no talking, no vomiting, no ass-backing.”
“Now, as I said, I don’t want you to expect too much today. This is just an introduction, and a chance for Her Majesty to become acquainted with you.”
“So you’re saying she isn’t going to give me a knighthood today?”
“Kitty, women don’t get knighted in Malaysia. There is a whole different system of honors here. The sultana can bestow a title whenever she pleases, but don’t get your hopes up that it’s going to happen today.”
“You sound angry at me,” Kitty said with a little pout.
“I am not angry, Kitty. I’m just speaking over the chopper noise.” Truth be told, Oliver had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown ever since Kitty had delivered her ultimatum, and he was anxious for everything to go as planned today. He had way too much to lose if it didn’t. Trying to placate her a bit, he continued, “I’m just trying to make you understand that these titles given by royals like the sultana are real honors. They honor truly deserving people who have done a tremendous amount of good for Malaysia over a lifetime. People who build hospitals and schools, who start companies that support entire towns and provide work to thousands of locals. These honors mean a great deal more than Colette’s title. All she ever did was spread her legs for some posh dimwit.”
The helicopter swooped over the Kuala Lumpur skyline, passing the iconic Petronas Towers as it started to descend. “So this is where the sultana lives?” Kitty asked as she peered out at the exclusive leafy neighborhood of Bukit Tunku.
“This is just her little crash pad in KL for when she comes to the capital. She has residences all over the world—a house on Kensington Palace Gardens, a villa overlooking Lake Geneva, and of course, the gigantic palace in Perawak,” Oliver informed her as the chopper touched down on the great lawn.
The two of them jumped out of the chopper, and a uniformed officer awaited them on the lawn. “Welcome to the Istana al Noor,” he said as he led them toward a humongous white palac
e that resembled a wedding cake. Entering through the front doors, Oliver and Kitty found themselves in a vast reception hall with nine gigantic pyramidal chandeliers that descended from the coffered gold-leafed ceiling like upside-down versions of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.
“This is her little crash pad?” Kitty remarked.
“Oh, you have no idea, Kitty. Her home in Perawak is twice the size of Buckingham Palace.”
They were shown into the drawing room, which had dramatic black marble floors and walls painted in a shimmering crimson hue. The space was filled with priceless Peranakan gilded wood antiques mixed with fantastical Claude Lalanne bronze furniture. Facing them was a vibrant pink-and-yellow triptych of Andy Warhol paintings depicting the Dowager Sultana in her younger days. “Wow, this was not what I was expecting,” Kitty said, clearly in awe of her surroundings.
“Yes, the Dowager Sultana was definitely a hell-raiser back in the seventies,” Oliver noted as they both sat down on a backless velvet settee. Next to the settee was a round Lalanne table laden with gold-framed photographs of the sultana posing with famous personages. Kitty peered at the pictures, recognizing the Queen of England, Pope John Paul II, Barack and Michelle Obama, Indira Gandhi, and a woman with an enormous pile of blond hair.
“Who is that blond woman? She looks so familiar. Is she some queen?” Kitty asked.
Oliver squinted at the picture and then let out a quick laugh. “No, but she is adored by many queens. That’s Dolly Parton.”
“Ah,” Kitty said. Suddenly the double doors opened, and two honor guards in full-dress uniform entered. Flanking the doorway, they clicked their heels at attention and tapped the base of their long bayonets on the marble floor twice in unison. “We need to stand, Kitty,” Oliver suggested. Kitty quickly stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles on the front of her ankle-length Roksanda skirt and then adjusting her posture.
The guard on the right side shouted sternly, “Sama-sama, maju kehadapan! Pandai cari pelajaran!” They tapped their bayonets on the floor again, as the sultana swept into the room in a flaming violet silk kebaya, followed by four attendants. Her head was covered in a matching violet, blue, and white headscarf, and she resembled Queen Mary, covered in precious jewels from the waist up. Pinned in the middle of her hijab right above her forehead was an enormous sunburst diamond brooch with a forty-five-carat pink diamond in the center. On her ears were a pair of diamond-and-pearl girandole earrings, and around her neck were what appeared to be ten or twelve heaping necklaces of nothing but diamonds, diamonds, and more diamonds.
Kitty’s jaw hung open at the sight of this Queen Mother ablaze in diamonds and she dropped to a curtsy so deep, Oliver thought she was doing the limbo. Oliver bowed smartly.