*1 Among the 220,000-plus foreigners living and working in Shanghai, there are now more than 20,000 French nationals, an alarming number of them INSEAD or école Polytechnique graduates. With Europe still stuck in an economic coma, graduates from Europe’s top universities have been moving to Shanghai in droves. None of them speak a word of Mandarin, but who needs to when the bartenders at M1NT, Mr. & Mrs. Bund, or Bar Rouge don’t either?

*2 Mandarin for “tall, rich, and handsome,” the minimum requirements every Mainland Chinese girl looks for in a husband.

8

COLETTE

SHANGHAI, CHINA

Carlton’s car pulled up to the front entrance of the house, and two attendants in matching James Perse black T-shirts and trousers appeared from out of nowhere. One of them helped Rachel out of the car, while the other informed Carlton, “Sorry, you can’t leave your car here like you normally do. We are expecting Mr. Bing’s arrival. You can either move it around into the car porch, or I can park it for you.”

“I’ll move it—thanks,” Carlton replied. He zoomed off and returned shortly to join Rachel and Nick at the entrance. The imposing oxidized maple-wood doors opened, and they found themselves in a serene inner courtyard almost entirely composed of a dark, shallow reflecting pool. A travertine walkway ran down the middle of the pool toward tall lacquered doors the color of espresso, and bamboo block plantings ran along the walls of the courtyard. The lacquered doors parted silently as the three of them approached, revealing the inner sanctum.

Before them was an immense, eighty-foot-long living room decorated entirely in tones of black and white. Maids in long, black silk qipaos*1 stood in a silent line by gray shikumen brick pillars hung with black-ink calligraphy scrolls, while polished black-tile floors and low-slung white sofas suffused the space with a tranquil, seductive vibe. The glass wall at the end of the room revealed an outdoor lounge filled with sleek sofas and dark-wood coffee tables, beyond which one could see more reflecting pools and pavilions.

Even Nick, who had grown up among the splendors of Tyersall Park, was momentarily taken aback. “Wow—is this a house or a Four Seasons resort?”

Carlton laughed. “Actually, Colette fell in love with the Puli Hotel in Shanghai and tried to get her father to buy it. When they found it wasn’t for sale no matter the price, he commissioned his architect to build her this place. This grand salon is inspired by the Puli’s lobby.”

An Englishman in a dapper black suit approached them. “Good afternoon, I’m Wolseley, the butler. May I offer you something to drink?”

Before anyone could respond, Colette made her entrance through another door in an oleander pink tea-length dress. “Rachel, Nick, so glad you could make it!” With her hair swept up into a high bun and her ruffled gazar skirt billowing about her as she walked into the room, Colette looked like she had just stepped off the cover of a 1960s issue of Vogue.

Rachel greeted her with a hug. “Colette, you look like you should be having breakfast at Tiffany’s or something! And my God, your house is just incredible!”

Colette gave a modest giggle. “Here, let me give you a proper tour. But first, drinks! What libation can we tempt you with? I’m sure Carlton will have his usual tumbler of vodka, and I think I’ll have a Campari and soda to match my dress. Rachel, do you feel like a Bellini?”

“Um, sure, only if it’s not too much trouble,” Rachel said.

“Not at all! We always have fresh white peaches for our Bellinis, don’t we, Wolseley? Nick, what will it be?”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

“Ugh, the boys are so boring.” Colette rolled her eyes at Wolseley. “Come, follow me. Did Carlton explain to you my whole concept for this house?”

“We heard that you liked some hotel in Shanghai—” Rachel began.

“Yes, the Puli—but I’ve made this house even more luxurious. We used precious materials that you just wouldn’t want to use in a public space like a hotel. I know many people have this impression that everyone in China lives in tacky Louis XIV mansions where everything is dipped in gold and it looks like a tassel factory exploded, so I wanted this house to be a showplace for the best of contemporary China. Every piece of furniture you see in this grand salon was custom-designed and handcrafted here by our finest designers, in the rarest materials. And of course, all the antiques are museum quality. The scrolls on the walls are by Wu Boli, from the fourteenth century, and that Ming dynasty wine cup over there? I bought it from a dealer in Xi’an two years ago for six hundred thousand—the curator from the St. Louis Museum just offered me fifteen million for it. As if I would ever sell!” Rachel stared at the small porcelain bowl painted with chickens, trying to believe it was worth a hundred times her annual salary.

The group stepped out into the back courtyard, which was dominated by another vast reflecting pool. Colette led them along a covered walkway as a haunting New Agey song played softly on hidden outdoor speakers. “The pride of this estate is my greenhouse—the most important thing you should know is that this whole property is one hundred percent certified green—all the roofs have solar paneling, and all the reflecting pools actually flow into a state-of-the-art aquaponics system.”

The four of them entered a futuristic glass-roofed structure that was blindingly lit and lined with alternating rows of fish tanks and vegetable patches. “All the water gets channeled into the tanks, where we farm fish for eating, and then the nutrient-rich water fertilizes the organic vegetables grown here. See, I’m not just green—I’m emerald green!” Colette proudly informed them.

“Okay, I’m officially impressed!” Nick said.

Crossing the central courtyard again, Colette continued to explain. “Even though the buildings are modern in style, there are eight interconnected pavilions arranged in an Emperor’s Throne formation to ensure proper feng shui. Everybody STOP!”

They stopped dead in their tracks.

“Now breathe in the air. Can’t you just feel the good chi flowing everywhere?”

Nick could only detect a faint scent that reminded him of Febreze, but he nodded along with Rachel and Carlton.

Colette put her hands in the namaskara position and beamed. “Here we come to the entertainment pavilion. The wine cellar takes up the entire lower level—it was specially designed for us by the Taittinger people, and this is the screening room.” Rachel and Nick poked their heads into a cinema where there were fifty ergonomic Swedish recliners arranged in stadium-style seating.

“Do you see what’s hiding at the back?” Carlton asked.

Rachel and Nick stepped into the room and discovered that the entire back area of the screening room under the projector booth contained a slick sushi bar that looked like it had been transplanted straight from Tokyo’s Roppongi district. A sushi chef in a black kimono bowed at them while his young apprentice sat at the bar carving radishes into cute little kitten faces.

“Get. Out. Of. Town!” Rachel exclaimed.

“And we thought we were being extravagant ordering in from Blue Ribbon Sushi on Survivor Wednesdays,” Nick quipped.

“Did you see the documentary about the greatest sushi master in the world—Jiro Dreams of Sushi?” Colette asked.

“Oh my God—don’t tell me that guy is one of his sons!” Rachel gaped in awe at the sushi chef as he stood behind the blond-wood counter massaging an octopus.

“No, that’s Jiro’s second cousin!” Colette said excitedly.

From there, the tour continued to the guest wing, where Colette showed off bedroom suites more sumptuous than any five-star hotel (“We only allow our guests to sleep on H?stens*2 mattresses stuffed with the finest Swedish horsehair”), and then into her bedroom pavilion, which had wraparound glass walls and a sunken circular lotus pond at one end of the room. The only other objects in the lusciously minimalist space were a cloud-like king-size bed in the middle of the room and beeswax pillar candles flanking one wall (“I like my bedroom to be very Zen. When I sleep, I detach from all my worldly possessions”). Adjoining the bedroom pavilion was a structure four times its size—Colette’s bathroom and closet.