China Rich Girlfriend (27 page)

SINGAPORE

Carmen Loh had just stretched into
sarvangasana
pose in the middle of her living room when she heard her answering machine kick in.

“Carmen, ah. Mummy here. Geik Choo just called to tell me that Uncle C.K. has been checked in to Dover Park Hospice. They say if he makes it through the night, he can probably last through the week. I'm going to pay a visit today. I think you should come with me. Can you come and pick me up at Lillian May Tan's around six? We should be finished with mah-jongg by then, unless Mrs. Lee Yong Chien shows up. In that case the game will take longer. Visiting hours at Dover Park end at eight, so I want to make sure we have ample time. Also, I ran into Keng Lien today at NTUC, and she said she heard from Paula that you are selling your Churchill Club membership to fund some new scuba-diving venture. I said ‘What rubbish, there is no way my daughter would ever do a thing like…' ”

Grunting in frustration, Carmen eased her body down from its shoulder stand. Why the hell didn't she remember to turn off the machine? Thirty minutes of pure bliss ruined by one call from her mother. She walked slowly to the phone and picked it up. “Ma, why on earth is Uncle C.K. in a hospice and not at home? Won't they get him twenty-four-hour home-hospice care even in his final days? I can't believe the family is as
giam siap
^*1
as that.”

“
Aiyah
, it's not that. Uncle C.K. wants to die at home, but the children won't let him. They think it will affect the value of the house,
lor
.”

Carmen rolled her eyes in exasperation. Even before the tin-mining tycoon C. K. Wong's MRI results came in showing that his cancer had spread all over, everyone had already begun plotting. In the old days, real estate agents would scour the obituaries every morning, hoping to see the name of some prominent tycoon appear, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the family put the big house up for sale. Now, with Good Class Bungalows
^*2
becoming rarer than unicorns, the top agents were resorting to “well-placed contacts” at all the hospitals. Five months ago, Carmen's boss, Owen Kwee, at MangoTee Properties had called her into his office and said, “My
lobang
^*3
at Mount E. saw C. K. Wong come in for chemo. Aren't you related to him?”

“Our fathers are cousins.”

“That house of his on Cluny Park Road is on a three-acre plot. It's one of the last Frank Brewer houses still standing.”

“I know. I've been going there my whole life.”

Owen leaned back in his tufted-leather office chair. “I only know the oldest son, Quentin. But there are other siblings, right?

“Two younger brothers and one daughter.” She knew exactly where he was going with this.

“Those two brothers live abroad, don't they?”

“Yes,” Carmen said impatiently, wishing he would get to the point.

“The family will probably want to sell after the old man conks off, won't they?”

“Jesus, Owen, my uncle is still very much alive. He was golfing at Pulau Club last Sunday.”

“I know,
lah
, but can I safely assume that MangoTee will get the exclusive listing if the family ever decides to sell?”

“Stop being so
kiasu
.
^*4
Of course I will get the listing,” Carmen said in annoyance.

“I'm not being
kiasu
, I just wanted to make sure you are prepared. I
hear Willy Sim over at Eon Properties is already circling like a hawk. He went to Raffles with Quentin Wong, you know.”

“Willy Sim can circle all he wants. I'm already in the nest.”

Six months later, this was precisely where Carmen found herself—standing in the crow's nest, a small room tucked away in the attic of her late uncle's old bungalow—as she showed her friend Astrid around the property.

“What a cute space! What did they use this room for?” Astrid asked as she peered around the little nook.

“The original family that built this house called it the crow's nest. The story is that the wife was a poetess, and she wanted a quiet place away from her children to do her writing. From the window, she had a bird's-eye view of the front garden and the driveway, so she could always keep an eye on who was coming and going. By the time my uncle bought the house, this was just a store room. My cousins and I used it as a clubhouse when we were kids. We called it Captain Haddock's Hideout.”

“Cassian would love this. He would have so much fun up here.” Astrid peered out the window and saw Michael's 1956 black Porsche 356 Speedster pulling up the driveway.

“James Dean just arrived,” Carmen deadpanned.

“Haha. He does look like quite the rebel in it, doesn't he?”

“I always knew you'd end up with a bad boy. Come, let's give him the grand tour.”

As Michael got out of his classic sports car, Carmen couldn't help but notice the transformation. The last time she had seen him was two years ago at a party at Astrid's parents' house, where he was in cargo pants and a polo shirt and still had his commando buzz cut. Now, striding up to the front steps in his steel-gray Berluti suit, Robert Marc sunglasses, and trendy disheveled haircut, he seemed like a totally different man.

“Hey, Carmen. Love your new hairstyle,” Michael said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks,” Carmen said. She'd had her long straight hair layered into a chin-length bob a few weeks ago, and he was the first man to pay her a compliment.

“My condolences about your uncle—he was a great man.”

“Thank you. The silver lining to this unfortunate event is that you
are getting to preview the place before it officially goes on the market tomorrow.”

“Yes, Astrid hassled me to leave the office and come see this place right now.”

“Well, we anticipate a feeding frenzy as soon as the listing goes live. A property like this hasn't come on the market in years, and it will most likely go straight to auction.”

“I can only imagine. What is this—two, three acres? In this neighborhood? I'm sure every developer would love to get their hands on this,” Michael said, surveying the expansive front lawn framed by tall, lush traveler's palms.

“That's precisely why the family has allowed me to show it to you exclusively. We don't want this house to be torn down and turned into some huge condo development.”

Michael glanced quizzically at Astrid. “This isn't a teardown? I thought you wanted to hire some hot-shit French architect to design something on this land.”

“No, no, you're confusing this with the place I wanted you to see on Trevose Crescent. This should never be torn down—it's a treasure,” Astrid said emphatically.

“I like the grounds, but tell me what's so special about this house—it's not like it's one of those historic Black and Whites.”

“Oh, it's much rarer than a Black and White house,” Carmen said. “This is one of the few houses built by Frank Brewer, one of Singapore's most prominent early architects. He designed the Cathay Building. Come, let's take a walk around the outside first.”

As they circled the house, Astrid began pointing out the distinctive half-timbered gables that gave the house its stately, Tudor-esque feel, the elegant exposed-brick arches in the porte cochere, and other ingenious details like the Mackintosh-inspired ventilation grilles that kept the rooms feeling cool even in the sweltering tropical heat. “See how it combines the Arts and Crafts esthetic with Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Spanish Mission style? You're not going to find such a fusion of architectural styles in one house anywhere else on the planet.”

“It's nice, hon, but you're probably the only person in Singapore who would even care about those details! Who lived here before your relatives?” he asked Carmen.

“It was built originally in 1922 for the chairman of Fraser and Neave, and later it became the Belgian ambassador's residence,” Carmen replied,
adding rather unnecessarily: “This is a rare chance to own one of Singapore's truly historic gems.”

The three of them entered the house, and as they wandered through the elegantly proportioned rooms, Michael began to appreciate the place more and more. “I like how high the ceilings are on the ground floor.”

“It's a bit creaky in places, but I know just the architect to help give this place a gentle restoration—he worked on my uncle Alfred's place in Surrey and just redid Dumfries House in Scotland for the Prince of Wales,” Astrid said.

Standing in the living room, with sunlight flooding through the oriole windows and casting origami shadows onto the parquet wood floors, Michael was suddenly reminded of the drawing room at Tyersall Park and the feeling of unutterable awe that came over him the first time he entered that room to meet Astrid's grandmother. He had originally envisioned his new house as something resembling the contemporary wing of a museum, but now he had another vision of himself in thirty years as a silver-haired eminence, presiding over this grand and historic showplace as business colleagues from all over the world came to pay their respects. He pounded his hand against one of the buttressed walls and said to Astrid, “I like all this old stonework. This house feels rock solid, not like your father's rickety Black and White.”

“I'm glad you like it. It has a very different feel from my father's place,” Astrid said measuredly.

It's also bigger than your father's house
, Michael thought. He could already imagine what his brothers would say when they drove up:
Wah lan eh, ji keng choo seeee baaay tua!
^*5
He turned to Carmen and asked, “So, what will it take to get the keys to the front door?”

Carmen considered his question for a moment. “On the open market, this house would go for sixty-five, seventy million, easily. You'd have to make a compelling enough offer for the family to stop the listing tomorrow morning.”

Michael stood at the top of the staircase and fingered the carved woodwork on the banister. Its art deco sunrays reminded him of the Chrysler building. “C. K. Wong had four children, right? I'll offer seventy-four. This way every sibling gets an extra million for their trouble.”

“Let me just call my cousin Geik Choo,” Carmen said, reaching into
her Saint Laurent handbag for her phone and walking discreetly out of the living room.

A few minutes later, she returned. “My cousin thanks you for the offer. But factoring in stamp duties and my commission, the family is going to need more. At eighty million, you have a deal.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Michael said with a laugh. He looked over at Astrid and said, “Honey, how badly do you want this?”

Wait a minute
—
it's you who wants to move
, Astrid thought. Instead, she said, “I will be very happy in this house if you are.”

“Okay then, eighty it is.”

Carmen smiled. This was so much easier than she had imagined. She disappeared into a bedroom down the hallway again to call her cousin back.

“How much do you think it's going to take to decorate this place?” Michael asked Astrid.

“Really depends on what we want to do. It reminds me of the sort of country houses you see in the Cotswolds, so I could picture some simple English pieces mixed with Geoffrey Bennison fabrics perhaps. I think it would go well with your historic artifacts and some of my Chinese antiques. And downstairs, maybe we can—”

“The entire downstairs is going to be converted into a state-of-the-art car museum for my collection,” Michael interrupted.

“All of it?”

“Of course. That's the first thing I pictured when I walked in the front door. I was like, let's tear all these reception rooms down and make it one vast hall. Then I could put car turntables into the floor. It will be so cool to see my cars revolving around between all those columns.”

Astrid looked at him, waiting for him to say,
Just kidding
, but then she realized he was dead serious. “If that's what you want,” she finally managed to squeak out.

“Now, what is taking that friend of yours so long? Don't tell me those Wongs are getting greedy and want to take me for another ride.”

Just then, Carmen reentered the room, looking rather flushed in the face. “I'm sorry—I hope I wasn't shouting too loudly?”

“No. What happened?” Astrid asked.

“Er, I don't quite know how to say this, but I'm afraid the house has been sold to someone else.”

“WHAAAT? I thought we had an exclusive first bid,” Michael said.

“I'm very sorry. I thought you did too. But my asshole cousin Quentin
played me out. He used your offer to bid up another one that was already in the works.”

“I'll top whatever offer your cousin got,” Michael said defiantly.

“I already suggested that, but it's apparently a done deal. The buyer doubled your price to take the house off the market completely. It sold for $160 million.”

“$160 million? That's ridiculous! Who the hell bought it?”

“I don't know. My cousin doesn't even know. Some limited liability company in China, obviously as a cover.”

“Mainlanders. Of course,” Astrid said softly.

“
Kan ni na bu chao chee bye!
”
^*6
Michael shouted, kicking the wooden banister in frustration.

“Michael!” Astrid exclaimed in shock.

“What?” Michael looked at her defiantly. “This is all your damn fault! I can't believe you would waste my time like this!”

Carmen huffed. “Why are you blaming your wife? If there's anyone you should be blaming, it's me.”

“You're
both
to blame. Astrid, do you have any idea how busy I was today? You shouldn't have demanded I drop everything to come see this godforsaken house if it wasn't really available. Carmen, how the hell did you ever get your real estate license when you can't even do a simple deal like this? Fucking unbelievable!” Michael swore, before storming out of the house.