“Night visits are like sitting Shiva, Singapore-style. It’s officially for family and close friends to come to the house to pay their last respects, but really, it’s a chance for all the kaypohs*1 to get in on the family gossip and start scheming. I guarantee you everyone at Tyersall Park is furiously speculating about what’s going to happen to the house now that Shang Su Yi has dearly departed, and there are plenty of shenanigans going on in every corner.”

“Unfortunately I think you may be right,” Rachel said with a slight grimace.

“Of course I’m right. When my grandfather died, all my uncles and aunties came out of the woodwork and crept around his house during the night visit, putting stickers with their names behind paintings and under antique vases so they could claim that he had given it to them!” Peik Lin said with a chuckle.

Soon they found themselves in bumper-to-bumper traffic as the line of cars snaking up Tyersall Road to the estate’s gates were stopped at a security checkpoint. Glancing at the policemen peering into the cars ahead of them, Rachel felt her stomach begin to knot up.

“There’s so much security—I think the president or prime minister must be here,” Peik Lin noted. After passing through all the checkpoints, the car sped up the long driveway, and as they rounded the last curve, Tyersall Park finally came into view.

“Bloody hell,” Carlton said, impressed by the scene before him. The great house was ablaze in lights, the front driveway resembled a parking lot lined with fancy cars, many with diplomatic plates. Uniformed Gurkhas and policemen were stationed everywhere, trying to manage the traffic flow.

As the three of them got out of the car, a large black military helicopter swooped into sight over the house and descended gracefully onto the manicured lawn. The doors slid open, and a portly Chinese man in his early eighties dressed in a black suit with a deep purple tie was the first to get out. A woman in a black cocktail dress with art deco patterned jet beading followed behind him.

Rachel turned to Peik Lin. “Is that the president and First Lady?”

“No. I have no idea who they are.”

Then a middle-aged man in a black suit emerged, and Carlton exclaimed, “Well that’s the president of China!”

Peik Lin looked awestruck. “Oh my God, Rachel, the president of China has come to pay his respects!”

Much to their surprise, the next person to emerge was a tall, lanky college-age kid with long, messy shoulder-length brown hair, dressed in tight black jeans, steel-tipped black boots, and a black tuxedo jacket. A Chinese man in a pinstripe suit and a blond middle-aged lady in a black dress with a pale green shawl draped around her shoulders emerged next, followed by a cute fair-haired girl of about twelve.

“Stranger and stranger,” Peik Lin said.

A small crowd had clustered outside the house to observe the arriving dignitaries, and as Rachel walked up, she saw Nick’s cousin Alistair waving at her.

Alistair greeted Rachel with a big bear hug before excitedly hugging Carlton and Peik Lin as well. “Peik Lin, I haven’t seen you since Rachel’s wedding! I love your new red hair! I’m so glad you guys are finally here—it’s been soooo lame inside…all anyone wants to talk about is ‘Who’s getting the house?’ And now things are about to get even stuffier,” he said, gesturing to the arriving VIPs.

“Who are those people with the president of China?” Rachel asked.

Alistair looked momentarily surprised. “Oh, you haven’t met them yet? Those people are the Imperial Shangs. The old farts are my uncle Alfred and auntie Mabel. The younger farts are my cousin Leonard and his very posh wife, India, who’s apparently descended from Mary Queen of Scots or something like that, and those are his kids, Casimir and Lucia. Doesn’t Cass look like Harry Styles from One Direction?”

Everyone laughed.

“I think Harry’s shorter,” Peik Lin quipped.

“So they all just came from China?” Rachel asked, still confused.

“No, the Shangs just had dinner with the president at the Chinese embassy. The president’s only here because of Uncle Alfred. He never knew Ah Ma, of course.”

“I believe my father knows him,” Rachel remarked.

“They’ve been good friends since their university days, and Dad serves on his standing committee,” Carlton chimed in.

“Of course, I keep forgetting your father is Bao Gaoliang,” Alistair said.

“One last question…who is that girl?” Carlton asked.

Stepping out last from the helicopter was an astonishing Eurasian beauty in her early twenties. She had waist-length, sun-streaked hair and wore a long, sleeveless black linen Rochas dress and gold sandals from Da Costanzo, looking like she had just stepped in from a beach party on Majorca.

“I think I’ve just met my future wife,” Carlton declared as he watched the girl’s hair billow around her sensationally under the draft of the helicopter rotors.

“Best of luck, mate! That’s my cousin Scheherazade Shang. She’s working on her dissertation at the Sorbonne. Brains and beauty. You know, I’ve heard there’s another dude that’s been trying to get her number for years with absolutely no success. His name’s Prince Harry.”

···

As the Shangs retreated into the house with the president of China, Rachel, Carlton, and Peik Lin followed a few paces behind. In the grand foyer, they ran into Oliver T’sien staring disapprovingly as hordes of people passed through, navigating past the hundreds of floral wreaths—some bigger than Michelin tires—that now invaded the space.

“Rachel! Wonderful to see you! Isn’t this awful?” Oliver whispered in her ear. “Singaporeans just love sending these ghastly funeral wreaths.” Rachel glanced at the card on the nearest wreath: GREAT EASTERN LIFE ASSURANCE OFFERS CONDOLENCES ON THE DEATH OF MADAM SHANG SU YI.

As they continued past the dining room where an enormous dinner buffet had been set up, Rachel could see guests standing in a long queue that snaked out the terrace doors, waiting to devour the delicacies at the various food stations. A little boy dashed past Rachel, shouting, “Auntie Doreen wants more chili craaaaab!”

“Whoa!” Rachel said, narrowly dodging the boy who was precariously clutching a heaping platter of crustaceans.

“Not what you were expecting?” Peik Lin said with a laugh.

“Not quite. It’s all so…festive,” Rachel remarked.

“It’s the funeral of the year!” Oliver quipped. “Don’t you know everyone who’s anyone wants to be here? A little earlier, a rather pushy young socialite named Serena Tang tried to take a selfie with Su Yi’s coffin. She got thrown out, of course. Here, let’s take a shortcut.” He directed them through a side door and the atmosphere changed completely.

They found themselves in the magnificent Andalusian Cloister, an enclosed courtyard surrounded by carved columns open to the sky. Rows of chairs with white slipcases had been arranged around the reflecting pool in the center of the courtyard, and the guests who gathered here murmured quietly amid the sound of the trickling water. Antique silk lamps had been placed in each of the arched alcoves surrounding the courtyard, the flickering candles within each lamp adding to the monastic stillness of the space.