China Rich Girlfriend (20 page)

“Sounds like a fun way to make a living,” Nick commented.

“Tell that to my parents when you see them. They think I'm wasting my life.”

“I'm sure they are just concerned for your safety,” Rachel said, holding her breath as Carlton suddenly cut across three lanes at ninety miles per hour.

“Sorry, I just need to get around those trucks. Don't worry—I'm a very safe driver.”

Nick and Rachel exchanged dubious looks, knowing Carlton's recent history. Rachel checked that her seat belt was securely fastened and tried not to look at the zigzagging cars in front of them.

“Everyone on the highway seems totally schizo—they're changing lanes constantly,” Nick quipped.

“Listen, if you try to drive in an orderly fashion here and stay in your lane all the time, you'll just get killed,” Carlton said, accelerating again to overtake a truck full of pigs. “The rational rules of driving do not apply in this country. I learned to drive in the UK, and when I came back to Shanghai the first time after getting my license, I got pulled over on my first day driving. The police officer screamed at me, ‘You bloody fool! Why did you stop at that red light?' ”

“Oh yeah, Rachel and I have almost gotten killed trying to cross the road several times. Traffic signals mean nothing to Shanghai drivers,” Nick said.

“They are merely suggestions,” Carlton agreed, suddenly slamming on the brakes and veering sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding a van in the far left lane.

“SWEET JESUS! WAS THAT VAN ACTUALLY BACKING UP IN THE FAST LANE?” Rachel screamed.

“Welcome to China,” Carlton said nonchalantly.

Twenty minutes outside of downtown Shanghai, they finally exited the highway, much to Rachel's relief, and turned onto what appeared to be a recently paved boulevard.

“Where are we?” Rachel asked.

“This is a new development called Porto Fino Elite,” Carlton explained. “It's modeled after those fancy neighborhoods in Newport Beach.”

“Clearly,” Nick commented as they passed a Mediterranean-style strip mall painted in shades of ochre, complete with a Starbucks. They turned off the main street and drove down a long avenue flanked by high stucco walls, at the end of which stood a cascading sculptural waterfall next to a gatehouse. Carlton pulled up in front of a massive gate with decorative steelwork panels, and three uniformed guards emerged from the gatehouse. One of the guards walked around the car warily, as if he was looking for hidden explosives, while another used an inspection mirror to peer under the car. The guard in charge recognized Carlton and checked him off a list. He gave Nick and Rachel a careful once-over, before nodding and waving the car through.

“That's pretty serious security,” Nick commented.

“Yep—it's very private here,” Carlton said.

The heavy gates clanked open, and the McLaren sped down a pristine white gravel road lined with Italian cypresses. Between the trees, Rachel and Nick could make out several small artificial lakes, from the middle of which sprouted fountains; sleek glass and steel buildings here and there; and the undulating mounds of a golf course. Finally, as they passed a pair of weathered obelisks, they came upon the main reception building—a majestic yet minimalist stone-and-glass structure surrounded by artfully planted pagoda trees.

“I had no idea they were building resorts like this in the suburbs outside Shanghai. What's this place called?” Nick asked Carlton.

“This isn't actually a resort. This is Colette's weekend retreat.”

“Excuse me? This whole property is hers?” Rachel sputtered.

“Yes, all thirty acres of it. Her parents built it for her.”

“And where do they live?”

“They have houses in many cities—Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing—but they spend most of their time in Hawaii these days,” Carlton explained.

“They must have done rather well,” Rachel commented.

Carlton gave her a look of amusement. “I guess I never mentioned—Colette's father is one of the five richest men in China.”

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 Hästens
^*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.

Rachel stepped into the bathroom, which was a sprawling daylight-flooded space entirely clad in glacier-white Calacatta marble. Indentations were carved into the giant slab of unpolished marble to create organic-shaped sinks that looked like watering holes for chic hobbits, and beyond was a private circular courtyard with a dark blue malachite reflecting pool. Growing out of the center of the pool was a perfectly manicured willow tree, and nestled under it was an egg-shaped bathtub that appeared to have been sculpted from a single piece of white onyx. Round stepping stones led across the water to the tub.

“Oh my God, Colette—I'm just going to come right out and say it: I
am insanely jealous! This bathroom is just
beyond
—it's straight out of my dreams!” Rachel exclaimed.

“Thank you for appreciating my vision,” Colette said, her eyes getting a little moist.

Nick looked at Carlton. “Why are women so obsessed with their bathrooms? Rachel was obsessed with the bathroom in our hotel, the bathroom at the Annabel Lee Boutique, and now it looks like she's found bathroom nirvana.”

Colette stared at Nick with contempt. “Rachel, this man doesn't understand women AT ALL. You should get rid of him!”

“Trust me, I'm beginning to think about it,” Rachel said, sticking her tongue out at Nick.

“All right, all right—when we get back to New York I'll call the contractor and you can retile the bathroom like you wanted.” Nick sighed.

“I don't want it retiled, Nick, I want this!” Rachel declared, stretching her arms out and caressing the lip of the onyx tub as if it was a baby's bottom.

Colette grinned. “Okay, we better skip the tour of my closets—I don't actually want to be blamed for your breakup. Why don't I show you the spa?” The party walked through a deep crimson passageway and were shown dimly lit treatment rooms decorated with Balinese furniture, and then they came to a stunning underground space with pillars like a Turkish seraglio surrounding a massive indoor saltwater pool that glowed an arresting shade of cerulean blue. “The entire floor of the pool is inlaid with turquoise,” Colette announced.

“You've got your own private spa right here!” Rachel said in disbelief.

“Rachel, we're good friends now—I have a confession to make. I used to have a terrible addiction…I was addicted to spa resorts. Before I found myself, I used to spend the whole year aimlessly flying from resort to resort. But I was never satisfied, because something was never quite right everywhere I went. I would find a dirty mop left in the corner of the steam room at the Amanjena in Marrakech, or I would have to put up with some creepy potbellied guy staring at me sunbathing in the infinity pool at One and Only Reethi Rah. So I decided I could only be happy if I could create my personal spa resort right here.”

“Well, you're very fortunate that you have the resources to make this happen,” Rachel said.

“Yes, but I'm also saving so much money by doing this! This whole development used to be farmland, and now that there are no more farms,
I employ all the displaced locals to work on the estate, so it's really been good for the economy. And think of all the carbon offset points I'm racking up by not having to fly all over the world every weekend trying out new spas,” Colette said earnestly.

Nick and Rachel nodded their heads diplomatically.

“I also hold many charitable events here. Next week, I'm planning a summer garden party with the actress Pan TingTing. It's going to be an ultra-exclusive fashion show with the latest collections from Paris—Rachel, tell me you'll come.”

“Of course I will,” Rachel politely replied, before wondering why she had agreed so quickly. The words “ultra-exclusive fashion show” filled her with dread, and she suddenly got flashbacks to Araminta's privateisland bachelorette party.

Just then, a few thin barks could be heard coming down the stairs. “My babies are back!” Colette shrieked. The group turned to see Colette's personal assistant, Roxanne, entering with two Italian greyhounds straining excitedly against their ostrich-leather leashes.

“Kate, Pippa, I've missed you so much. Poor little things—are you jet-lagged?” Colette cooed as she bent down and cuddled her emaciated dogs.

“Did she
really
name her dogs…” Rachel began to whisper in Carlton's ear.

“Yes, she did. Colette adores the royals—at her parents' house in Ningbo, she has a pair of Tibetan mastiffs named Wills and Harry,” Carlton explained.

“How were my darlings? Did everything go okay?” Colette asked Roxanne with a worried expression.

“Roxanne just flew Kate and Pippa on Colette's plane to see a famous dog psychic in California,” Carlton informed Rachel and Nick.

“They were very good. You know, at first I had my doubts about that pet psychic in Ojai, but wait till you read her report. Pippa is still traumatized by the time she almost got blown out of the Bentley convertible. That's why she tries to burrow under the backseat and poo-poos every time she rides in it. I told the woman
nothing
—how did she know you had that kind of car? I am a total believer in pet psychics now,” Roxanne reported earnestly.

Colette petted her dog with tears in her eyes. “I am so sorry, Pippa. I'll make it up to you. Roxanne, please take a picture of us and post on
WeChat: ‘Reunited with my girls.' ” Colette posed expertly for the picture and stood up, smoothing away the wrinkles on her skirt. She then said to Roxanne in a blood-chilling tone, “I never want to see that Bentley again.”

The group approached the final pavilion, the largest building of all and the only one that did not have any exterior windows. “Roxanne—code!” Colette ordered, and her headset-wearing assistant dutifully punched in an eight-digit code that unlocked the door. “Welcome to my family's private museum,” Colette said.

They stepped into a gallery the size of a basketball arena, and the first thing that caught Rachel's eye was a large silkscreen canvas of Chairman Mao. “Is that a Warhol?” she asked.