Kitty didn’t know how to respond. She felt a wave of humiliation sweep over her.

“Mrs. Tai, if I may be very frank, the Tais have never had the best reputation. Dato’ Tai Toh Lui was a corporate raider from some Malay backwater. The other tycoons despised him. And now his son is seen as a ne’er-do-well party boy who inherited a fortune but hasn’t worked a day in his life. Everyone knows Carol Tai still controls the purse strings. No one takes Bernard seriously, especially after he married a former porn star turned soap-opera actress from Mainland China.”

Kitty looked like she had been slapped in the face. She opened her mouth to protest, but Corinna pressed on. “I don’t care what the truth is—I’m not here to judge you. But I feel that you need to know this is what everyone in Hong Kong has been saying about you. Everyone except Evangeline de Ayala, who we both know is very new in town.”

“She was the first person who has been nice to me since I got married,” Kitty said sadly. She looked down at her napkin for a moment before continuing. “I’m not as stupid as you think. I know what people are saying. I’ve been treated horribly by everyone, and it started long before the Pinnacle Ball. I was seated next to Araminta Lee at the Viktor & Rolf show in Paris last year, and she pretended like I didn’t even exist. What have I done to deserve this? There are so many other socialites with murky pasts, much worse than mine. Why am I being singled out?”

Corinna assessed Kitty for a few moments. She had expected her to be far more mercenary, and she was unprepared to discover the na?veté of the girl sitting in front of her. “Do you really want me to tell you?”

“Yes, please.”

“First of all, you are Mainland Chinese. You know how most Hong Kongers feel about Mainlanders. Like it or not, you have to work extra hard right out of the gate to overcome all the prejudices. But you handicapped yourself early on in the race. There’s a whole crowd who will never forgive you for what you did to Alistair Cheng.”

“Alistair?”

“Yes. Alistair Cheng is immensely popular. When you broke his heart, you made enemies out of all the girls who have adored him and all the people who respect his family.”

“I didn’t think Alistair’s family was that special.”

Corinna snorted. “Didn’t Alistair take you to Tyersall Park?”

“Tire-what?”

“My God, you never even got near the palace gates, did you?”

“What are you talking about? What palace?”

“Never mind. The point is, Alistair’s mother is Alix Young—because of her, Alistair is related to almost every important family in Asia. The Leongs of Malaysia, the aristocratic T’siens, the Shangs—who own practically everything. I’m sorry to have to break this to you, but you placed your bet on the wrong horse.”

“I had no idea,” Kitty said in a whisper.

“How could you? You didn’t grow up among these people. You’ve never been properly schooled in the ways of the manor-born. Let me assure you, if we choose to work together, you will get the insider’s view on everything. I will teach you the ins and outs of this world. I will share with you all the secrets of these families.”

“And how much is all this going to cost me?”

Corinna took a leather folio out of her battered Furla tote bag and presented it to Kitty. “I charge an annual retainer, and you are contractually obligated to sign on for a minimum of two years.”

Kitty looked over the schedule of fees and burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be joking!”

Corinna’s expression turned grave. She knew the moment had arrived for the hard sell. “Mrs. Tai, let me ask you something. What do you really want out of life? Because this is where I see your life heading: You’ll keep flying around Asia for the next few years, going to galas and benefits and whatnot, getting your picture in the magazines. Over time, you might strike up friendships with other rich Mainlanders or the gweilo*6 wives of men stationed here with three-year contracts at some foreign bank or private equity firm. You might even be invited to join the boards of inconsequential charities started by these bored expat wives. Your in-box will be filled with invitations for cocktails at the Chopard boutique or art openings in Sheung Wan. Sure, you may occasionally be invited to one of Pascal Pang’s parties, but the real Hong Kong will always be closed to you. You will never be asked to join the best clubs or attend the most exclusive parties in the best houses—and I’m not talking about Sonny Chin’s mansion on Bowen Road. Your children will never get into the best schools and have playdates with children from the top families. You will never get to know any of the people who move the economy, who have the ear of the top politicians in Beijing, who affect culture. People who truly matter in Asia. How much is that worth to you?”

Kitty remained silent.

“Here, let me show you a few pictures,” Corinna said, placing an iPad on the table. As she began to scroll through an album of images, Kitty recognized a few of the city’s top social figures posing casually with Corinna in private settings. Here was Corinna at breakfast on board the plane of a certain Mainland tycoon who now lived in Singapore, at the graduation of Leo Ming’s son from St. George’s School in Vancouver, in the delivery room at Matilda Hospital holding a famous Hong Kong socialite’s newborn baby.

“These are people you can introduce me to?”

“These are my clients.”

Kitty’s perfectly mascaraed eyes suddenly widened. “Ada Poon? She’s one of your clients?”

Corinna smiled. “Let me show you a picture of what she looked like before I began working with her. For your eyes only.”

“Oh my God—look at that outfit! And those teeth!” Kitty cackled.

“Yes, Dr. Chan did some of his best work ever on her teeth, didn’t he? Did you know that before she became the third Mrs. Francis Poon, she worked in the Chanel boutique on Canton Road in Kowloon? That’s how she met Francis—he came in looking for a little something for his wife, but left with a little something for himself.”

“How interesting. I thought she came from a good Hong Kong family.”

Corinna chose her words carefully. “I can tell you about Ada’s past because it’s a well-known fact. But you see, practically anyone can rise up in Hong Kong society. It’s all about perception, really. And the careful reinvention of personal history. We will refocus your image. Anyone can be forgiven. Anything can be forgotten.”

“So you will improve my image? You are going to help change Hong Kong’s perception of me?”

“Mrs. Tai, I am going to change your life.”

* * *

*1 In a city where people are almost as obsessed with food as they are with status, perhaps the best-kept secret of the dining scene is that the finest cuisine arguably isn’t found at the Michelin-starred restaurants in five-star hotels but rather at private dining clubs. These members-only establishments are sanctuaries of luxury hidden away on upper floors of office buildings, where the famous and well-heeled gather to enjoy their meals far from the prying eyes of paparazzi. These clubs often have years-long waiting lists for membership, and only the best concierges at the top hotels can be bribed into getting you a special “guest membership,” provided you are fabulous enough.

*2 Cantonese for “What the fuck?”

*3 Filipino slang for “sweetheart.”

*4 The Cantonese phrase literally means “drink tea,” but in Hong Kong it usually connotes a lunchtime meal of tea and dim sum.

*5 Refers to the Chief Executive of Hong Kong, who is supposedly the head of the government.

*6 This is a common Cantonese derogatory term usually applied to Caucasian foreigners, which literally translates as “foreign devil.” These days, many Hong Kongers frequently use the term to refer to foreigners in general and don’t consider it derogatory.

10

ARCADIA

MONTECITO, CALIFORNIA, MARCH 9, 2013

Rachel led her friends down the long hallway and opened a door. “Here it is,” she said in a hushed tone, gesturing for Goh Peik Lin and Sylvia Wong-Swartz to look in.

Peik Lin squealed as she caught her first glimpse of Rachel’s wedding gown hanging on a vintage mannequin in the middle of the dressing room. “Ooooh! It’s gorgeous! Absolutely gorrrgeous!”

Sylvia walked around it, inspecting the dress from every angle. “It’s nothing like what I was expecting, but it’s beautiful. So you. I still can’t believe Nick took you to Paris to shop for your dress and you ended up finding this at the Temperley sample sale in SoHo!”

“I just didn’t fall in love with anything in Paris. Every dress I saw this season was so over-the-top, and I really didn’t want to deal with the fuss of a couture gown—you know, having to fly back and forth to Paris for all those fittings,” Rachel said a little bashfully.