As Rachel tasted the char kuay teow, her eyes widened in delight at the rice noodles flash-fried with seafood, egg, and bean sprouts in a dark soy sauce. “Why doesn’t it ever taste like this at home?”

“Gotta love that burned-wok flavor,” Nick remarked.

“I bet you’ll love this,” Araminta said, handing Rachel a plate of roti paratha. Rachel tore off some of the doughy golden pastry and dipped it into the rich curry sauce.

“Mmmm … heaven!”

Then it was time for the satay. Rachel bit into the succulent grilled chicken, savoring its smoky sweetness carefully. The rest of them watched her intently. “Okay Nick, you were right. I’ve never had decent satay until now.”

“To think you doubted me,” Nick tut-tutted with a smile.

“I can’t believe we’re pigging out at this hour!” Rachel giggled, reaching for another stick of satay.

“Get used to it. I know you probably want to go straight to bed, but we have to keep you up for a few more hours so that you’ll adjust better to the time change,” Colin said.

“Aiyah, Colin just wants to monopolize Nick for as long as possible,” Araminta declared. “These two are inseparable whenever Nick’s in town.”

“Hey, I have to make the most out of this time, especially since mommie dearest is away,” Colin said in his own defense. “Rachel—you’re in luck, not having to deal with Nicky’s mum the minute you arrive.”

“Colin, don’t you start scaring her,” Nick chided.

“Oh Nick, I almost forgot—I ran into your mum the other day at Churchill Club,” Araminta began. “She grabbed me by the arm and said, ‘Aramintaaaaa! Aiyoh, you’re too dark! You better stop going into the sun so much, otherwise on your wedding day you will be so black people will think you are Malay!’ ”

Everyone roared with laughter, except Rachel. “She was kidding, I hope?”

“Of course not. Nick’s mum doesn’t kid,” Araminta said, continuing to laugh.

“Rachel, you’ll understand once you meet Nicky’s mum. I love her like my own mother, but she’s one of a kind,” Colin explained, trying to put her at ease. “Anyway, it’s perfect that your parents are gone, Nick, because this weekend your presence is required at my bachelor party.”

“Rachel, you’ll have to come to my bachelorette party,” Araminta declared. “Let’s show the boys how it’s really done!”

“You bet,” Rachel said, clinking her beer with Araminta’s.

Nick gazed at his girlfriend, thrilled that she had so effortlessly charmed his friends. He could still hardly believe that she was actually here with him, and that they had the whole summer ahead of them. “Welcome to Singapore, Rachel,” he joyously declared, lifting up his bottle of Tiger beer in a toast. Rachel gazed into Nick’s sparkling eyes. She had never seen him as happy as he was tonight, and she wondered how she could possibly have been worried about coming on this trip.

“How does it feel to be here?” Colin asked.

“Well,” Rachel mused, “an hour ago we landed in the most beautiful, modern airport I’ve ever seen, and now we’re sitting under these huge tropical trees by a nineteenth-century food hall, having the most glorious feast. I don’t ever want to leave!”

Nick grinned broadly, not noticing the look Araminta had just given Colin.

* * *

* Not to be confused with the Singapore academy where students are taught in—horrors—Mandarin, Nanyang is Mandarin for “Southern Sea.” The word also became a common reference for the large ethnic Chinese migrant population in Southeast Asia.

† Malay for “eat.”

15

Astrid

SINGAPORE

Whenever Astrid felt in need of a pick-me-up, she would pay a visit to her friend Stephen. Stephen had a small jewelry shop on one of the upper levels of the Paragon shopping center, tucked away from all the other high-end boutiques in a back hallway. While it lacked the visibility of high-profile local jewelers like L’Orient or Larry Jewelry, with their gleaming flagship stores, Stephen Chia Jewels was highly regarded by the island’s most discerning collectors.

Not to disregard his studied eye for spectacular gemstones, but what Stephen truly offered was absolute discretion. His was the sort of niche operation where, for instance, a society matron in need of a quick cash infusion to pay off her idiot son’s bad margin calls might go to dispose of an heirloom bauble without anyone finding out, or where a “very important piece” about to go on the block in Geneva or New York might be flown in for private inspection by a VIP client, away from the eyes of gossipy auction-house staffers. Stephen’s shop was said to be a particular favorite of the wives of Persian Gulf sheikhs, Malay sultans, and the Indonesian Chinese oligarchs, who had no need to be seen buying up millions of dollars’s worth of jewelry at the tony Orchard Road boutiques.

The shop consisted of a very small, rather stark front room where three French Empire vitrines displayed a small collection of moderately priced pieces, mainly by emerging artists from Europe. The mirrored door behind the Boulle desk, however, hid a vestibule where another security door opened to reveal a narrow corridor of individual chambers. It was here that Astrid liked to hide out, in the tuberose-scented private salon lined from floor to ceiling in pale blue velvet, with its plush velvet Récamier settee where she could curl up her feet, sip a soda with lemon, and gossip with Stephen as he came in and out of the room bearing trays and trays of glorious gems.

Stephen and Astrid had met years ago in Paris, when she wandered into the jewelry shop on rue de la Paix where he was doing his apprenticeship. Back then it was as rare to meet a teenage Singapore girl interested in eighteenth-century cameos as it was to see a young Chinese man behind the counter at a joaillier as distinguished as Mellerio dits Meller, so an immediate bond was struck. Astrid was grateful to find someone in Paris who understood her exacting tastes and was willing to indulge her capricious hunt for rare pieces that might have once belonged to the Princesse de Lamballe. Stephen, however, knew immediately that this girl had to be the daughter of some big shot, though it took him another three years of careful cultivating to figure out exactly who she was.

Like many of the world’s greatest jewelry dealers, from Gianni Bulgari to Laurence Graff, Stephen had over the years honed his skills in being perfectly attuned to the whims of the very rich. He had become a consummate soothsayer to the Asian billionaire set, and he had become an expert in recognizing Astrid’s many-faceted moods. He could tell, simply by observing her reactions to the types of pieces he would present to her, what sort of day she was having. Today he was seeing a side to Astrid he had never witnessed in fifteen years of knowing her. Something was clearly wrong, and her mood had worsened dramatically while he was showing her a new series of bracelets by Carnet.

“Aren’t these the most intricately detailed bracelets you’ve ever seen? They look like they could have been inspired by the botanical drawings of Alexander von Humboldt. Speaking of bracelets, did you like the charm bracelet your husband bought you?”