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.”
*2 Crazy Rich Chinese + Indonesia = Chindos
*3 Hokkien for “dog shit.”
*4 “Red hair” in Hokkien, this is a slang term used to refer to Caucasians of all stripes, even though the majority of Caucasians don’t have red hair (or stripes).
*5 Although this Cantonese phrase means “Scares people to death,” it is used to describe anything that’s gross or creepy.
*6 Hokkien for “You have such a good life.”
*7 Hokkien for “a very profitable business.”
*8 Malay for “toilet.”
*9 Hokkien for “Fifteenth Night,” a celebration held on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month to mark the official end of New Year celebrations. On this evening, single ladies will cast oranges in the river under the full moon in the hopes of finding good husbands, while everyone else in Singapore starts planning their diets.
*10 Deep-fried milk dumplings soaked in a sweet rose syrup.
*11 Hokkien for “I couldn’t give a damn.”
*12 Hokkien for “insane woman.”
8
DIAMOND BALLROOM, RITZ-CARLTON HOTEL
HONG KONG, MARCH 7, 2013
PINNACLE MAGAZINE’S “SOCIAL SWELLS” COLUMN
by Leonardo Lai
Last night, a star-studded crowd lit up the Fifteenth Annual Ming Foundation Pinnacle Ball. The event is a labor of love for Connie Ming, the first wife of Hong Kong’s second richest man Ming Ka-Ching, and the HK$25,000-per-seat tickets to this year’s soiree sold fast when word got out that the Duchess of Oxbridge, a cousin of H.M. Queen Elizabeth II, would attend, and that the Four Heavenly Kings*1 would reunite to perform a tribute to legendary songstress Tracy Kuan, the recipient of this year’s Lifetime Pinnacle Award.
The theme was “Nicholas and Alexandra,” the romantic yet ill-fated imperial couple of Russia, and there was no more perfect setting than the Ritz-Carlton Diamond Ballroom on the third floor of Hong Kong’s tallest building. Guests arrived to find the space transformed into “St. Petersburg in Winter,” with an ocean of Swarovski crystal icicles dangling from the ceiling, birch trees covered in “snow,” and towering Fabergé egg centerpieces on every table. Oscar Liang, the enfant terrible of Cantonese fusion cuisine, outdid himself with his succulent and inventive Ekaterinburg Pork—suckling pig riddled with truffle-infused gold-leaf “bullets” and thrown down a cellar chute before being flame-roasted over Russian coffee grounds.