Crazy Rich Asians (6 page)

Nick remained silent. He was taking in everything Astrid had to say, but his mind
was already made up. He was ready. He was absolutely head over heels in love with
Rachel, and it was time to show her off to the whole world.

“Nicky, how much does she know?” Astrid asked.

“About what?”

“About our family.”

“Not much. You’re the only one she’s met. She thinks you’ve got great taste in shoes
and that your husband spoils you rotten. That’s about it.”

“You probably want to prepare her a bit,” Astrid said with a laugh.

“What is there to prepare her for?” Nick asked breezily.

“Listen, Nicky,” Astrid said, her tone getting serious. “You can’t just throw Rachel
into the deep end like this. You
need
to prep her, do you hear me?”

Astrid Leong

Every May 1, the L’Herme-Pierres—one of France’s great banking families—would host
Le Bal du Muguet
, a sumptuous ball that was the highlight of the spring social season. This year,
as Astrid entered the arched passageway leading into the L’Herme-Pierres’ splendid
hôtel particulier
on Île Saint-Louis, she was handed a delicate sprig of flowers by a footman in smart
black-and-gold livery. “It’s after Charles IX, you know. He would present lilies of
the valley to all the ladies at Fontainebleau every May Day,” a woman wearing a tiara
explained to her as they emerged into the courtyard where hundreds of miniature eighteenth-century
hot-air balloons floated among the topiaries.

Astrid barely had time to take in the delightful sight when the Vicomtesse Nathalie
de L’Herme-Pierre pounced on her. “I’m so glad you could make it,” Nathalie effused,
greeting Astrid with quadruple cheek kisses. “My goodness, is that
linen
? Only
you
could get away with wearing a simple linen dress to a ball, Astrid!” The hostess
laughed, admiring the delicate Grecian folds of Astrid’s buttercup-yellow gown. “Wait
a minute … is this an
original
Madame Grès?” Nathalie asked, realizing that she had seen a similar dress at the
Musée Galliera.

“From her early period,” Astrid replied, almost embarrassed to have been found out.

“But of course. My goodness, Astrid, you’ve outdone yourself
once again. How on earth did you get your hands on an early Grès?” Nathalie asked
in awe. Recovering herself, she whispered, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have put
you next to Grégoire. He is being a
beast
tonight, as he thinks I am still fucking the Croatian. You are the only person I
can trust next to him at dinner. But at least you’ll have Louis on your left.”

“Don’t worry about me. I always enjoy catching up with your husband, and it will be
a treat to sit next to Louis—I just saw his new film the other day.”

“Wasn’t it a pretentious bore? Hated the black-and-white, but at least Louis looked
edible with his clothes off. Anyway, thank you for being my savior. Are you sure you
have to leave tomorrow?” the hostess asked with a pout.

“I’ve been gone almost a month! I’m afraid my son will forget who I am if I stay one
more day,” Astrid answered as she was ushered along into the grand foyer, where Nathalie’s
mother-in-law, the Comtesse Isabelle de L’Herme-Pierre, presided over the receiving
line.

Isabelle let out a small gasp when she caught sight of Astrid. “Astrid,
quelle surprise
!”

“Well, I wasn’t sure that I would be able to attend until the last minute,” Astrid
said apologetically, smiling at the stiff-looking grande dame standing beside Comtesse
Isabelle. The woman did not smile back. Rather, she tilted her head ever so slightly
as if appraising every inch of Astrid, the gigantic emerald earrings fastened to her
long earlobes swaying precariously.

“Astrid Leong, permit me to present my dear friend Baronne Marie-Hélène de la Durée.”

The baronne nodded curtly, before turning back to the comtesse and resuming their
conversation. As soon as Astrid had moved on, Marie-Hélène said to Isabelle,
sotto voce
, “Did you notice that necklace she was wearing? I saw it at JAR last week. It’s unbelievable
what these girls can get their hands on nowadays. Tell me, Isabelle,
whom
does she belong to?”

“Marie-Hélène, Astrid is not a kept woman. We’ve known her family for years.”

“Oh? Who is her family?” Marie-Hélène asked in astonishment.

“The Leongs are a Chinese family from Singapore.”

“Ah yes, I’ve heard that the Chinese are getting quite rich these
days. In fact, I read that there are now more millionaires in Asia than in all of
Europe. Who would have ever imagined?”

“No, no, I’m afraid you don’t quite understand. Astrid’s people have been wealthy
for generations.
Her father is one of Laurent’s biggest clients
,” Isabelle whispered.

“My dear, are you giving away all my secrets again?” Comte Laurent de L’Herme-Pierre
remarked as he rejoined his wife in the receiving line.

“Not at all. Merely enlightening Marie-Hélène about the Leongs,” Isabelle replied,
flicking away a speck of lint on her husband’s grosgrain lapel.

“Ah, the Leongs. Why? Is the ravishing Astrid here tonight?”

“You just missed her. But don’t worry, you have all night to ogle her across the dinner
table,” Isabelle teased, explaining to Marie-Hélène, “Both my husband and my son have
been obsessed with Astrid for years.”

“Well, why not? A girl like Astrid only exists to feed obsession,” Laurent remarked.
Isabelle smacked her husband’s arm in mock outrage.

“Laurent, tell me, how is it possible that these Chinese have been rich for generations?”
Marie-Hélène inquired. “I thought they were all penniless Communists in drab little
Mao uniforms not too long ago.”

“Well, first of all, you must understand that there are two kinds of Chinese. There
are the Chinese from
Mainland China
, who made their fortunes in the past decade like all the Russians, but then there
are the
Overseas Chinese
. These are the ones who left China long before the Communists came in, in many cases
hundreds of years ago, and spread throughout the rest of Asia, quietly amassing great
fortunes over time. If you look at all the countries in Southeast Asia—especially
Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia—you’ll see that virtually
all
the commerce is controlled by the Overseas Chinese. Like the Liems in Indonesia,
the Tans in the Philippines, the Leongs in—”

His wife cut in. “Let me just say this: we visited Astrid’s family a few years ago.
You can’t
imagine
how staggeringly rich these people are, Marie-Hélène. The houses, the servants, the
style in which they live. It makes the Arnaults look like
peasants
. What’s more, I’ve been told that Astrid is a double heiress—there’s an even more
enormous fortune on her
mother’s
side.”

“Is that so?” Marie-Hélène said in astonishment, staring across the room at the girl
with renewed interest. “Well, she
is
rather
soignée
,” she conceded.

“Oh, she’s incredibly chic—one of the few from her generation who gets it right,”
the comtesse decreed. “François-Marie tells me Astrid has a couture collection that
rivals the Sheikha of Qatar’s. She never attends the shows, because she loathes to
be photographed, but she goes straight to the ateliers and snaps up dozens of dresses
every season as if they were
macarons
.”

Astrid was in the salon admiring the Balthus portrait over the mantelpiece when someone
behind her said, “That’s Laurent’s mother, you know.” It was the Baronne Marie-Hélène
de la Durée, this time attempting a smile on her tightly pulled face.

“I thought it might be,” Astrid replied.

“
Chérie
, I must tell you how much I adore your necklace. In fact, I had admired it at Monsieur
Rosenthal’s a few weeks ago, but sadly, he informed me it was already spoken for,”
the baronne gushed. “I can see now that you were clearly meant to wear it.”

“Thank you, but you’ve got the most magnificent earrings,” Astrid replied sweetly,
rather amused by the woman’s sudden about-face.

“Isabelle tells me that you are from
Singapour
. I have heard so much about your country, about how it’s become the Switzerland of
Asia. My granddaughter is making a trip to Asia this summer. Perhaps you will be kind
enough to give her some advice?”

“Of course,” Astrid said politely, thinking to herself,
Wow—it took only five minutes for this lady to go from snooty to suck-up
. It was quite disappointing, really. Paris was her escape, and here she strove to
be invisible, to be just another of the countless Asian tourists who crammed eagerly
into the boutiques along the Faubourg-Saint-Honoré. It was this luxury of anonymity
that made her love the City of Lights. But living here several years back had changed
all that. Her parents, concerned that she was living alone in a foreign city with
no proper chaperone, made the mistake of alerting friends in Paris, like the L’Herme-Pierres.
Word had gotten out, and suddenly she was no longer just the
jeune fille
renting a loft in the Marais. She was
Harry Leong’s daughter
, or
Shang Su Yi’s granddaughter
. It was soooo frustrating. Of course, she should be used to this by now, to people
talking about
her as soon as she left the room. It had been going on practically since the day she
was born.

To understand why, one had to first consider the obvious—her astonishing beauty. Astrid
wasn’t attractive in the typical almond-eyed Hong Kong starlet sort of way, nor was
she the flawless celestial-maiden type. One could say that Astrid’s eyes were set
too far apart, and her jawline—so similar to the men on her mother’s side—was too
prominent for a girl. Yet somehow with her delicate nose, bee-stung lips, and long
naturally wavy hair, it all came together to form an inexplicably alluring vision.
She was always
that girl
stopped on the street by modeling scouts, though her mother fended them off brusquely.
Astrid was not going to be modeling for anyone, and certainly not for
money
. Such things were far beneath her.

And that was the other, more essential detail about Astrid: she was born into the
uppermost echelon of Asian wealth—a secretive, rarefied circle of families virtually
unknown to outsiders who possessed immeasurably vast fortunes. For starters, her father
hailed from the Penang Leongs, a venerable Straits Chinese
^*
family that held a monopoly over the palm oil industry. But adding even more oomph,
her mother was the eldest daughter of Sir James Young and the even more imperial Shang
Su Yi. Astrid’s aunt Catherine had married a minor Thai prince. Another was married
to the renowned Hong Kong cardiologist Malcolm Cheng.

One could go on for hours diagramming all the dynastic links in Astrid’s family tree,
but from any angle you looked at it, Astrid’s pedigree was nothing short of extraordinary.
And as Astrid took her place at the candlelit banquet table in the L’Herme-Pierres’
long gallery, surrounded by the gleaming Louis XV Sèvres and rose-period Picassos,
she could not have suspected just how extraordinary life was about to become.

The Chengs