5

TYERSALL PARK

SINGAPORE, CHINESE NEW YEAR, MORNING

Three Mercedes S-Class sedans in the identical shade of iridium silver bearing license plate numbers TAN01, TAN02, and TAN03 idled in the morning traffic on their way to Tyersall Park. In the lead car, Lillian May Tan, matriarch of the family with the surname so unabashedly flaunted on its vehicles, peered out at the red-and-gold Chinese New Year decorations that assaulted every façade along Orchard Road. Every year, the decorations seemed to get more and more elaborate and less and less tasteful. “What in God’s name is that?”

Seated in the front passenger seat, Eric Tan studied the ten-story LED billboard flashing an epileptic-seizure-inducing animation and let out a chuckle. “Grandma, I think it’s supposed to be a red snake…entering some…um, golden tunnel.”

“It’s a curious-looking snake,” Eric’s new wife, Evie, commented in her high-pitched voice.

Lillian May refrained from mentioning what she thought the engorged creature with the flared head resembled, but it reminded her of something she had seen a long time ago when her late husband—bless his soul—took her to a most peculiar live show in Amsterdam. “We should have taken Clemenceau Avenue! Now we’re stuck in all this Orchard Road traffic,” Lillian May said, fretting.

“Aiyah, no matter which way we go, it’s going to be jammed up,” her daughter Geraldine said.

Beginning on the first day of the Chinese New Year, Singaporeans participate in a most unique ritual. All over the island, people frantically dash around to the homes of family and friends to offer New Year greetings, exchange ang pows, and gobble down food. The first two days of the New Year are most crucial, and a strict protocol is observed as people arrange their visits in specific order of seniority—paying respects to the oldest, most esteemed (and usually richest) relatives first. Adult children not living at home are expected to visit their parents, younger siblings have to visit each of their older siblings in descending order of age, second cousins twice removed visit first cousins once removed, and after spending all day driving around the city paying tribute to the paternal side, they have to repeat the whole process the next day on the maternal side. In large families the whole affair would often involve complicated Excel flow charts, ang pow tracking apps, and plenty of Russian vodka to dull the migraine-inducing confusion of it all.

The Tans prided themselves on always being the first to arrive at Tyersall Park on New Year’s Day. Even though these descendants of the nineteenth-century rubber tycoon Tan Wah Wee were third cousins to the Youngs and technically not supposed to be the first visitors, they had established a tradition of showing up promptly at 10:00 a.m. since the 1960s (mainly because Lillian May’s late husband did not want to miss out on rubbing shoulders with all the VVIPs who tended to show up early).

As the convoy of vehicles finally reached Tyersall Avenue and made its way up the private gravel road of the sprawling estate, Geraldine gave Evie a last-minute crash course on her new relatives. “Now, Evie, be sure to greet Su Yi in Hokkien like I instructed you, and don’t address her unless you are spoken to first.”

“Okay.” Evie nodded, gaping at the elegant colonnade of palm trees leading to the most majestic house she had ever seen, getting more nervous by the second.

“And just avoid making any eye contact with her Thai ladies-in-waiting. Great-auntie Su Yi always has these two maids standing by her side who will give you the evil eye,” Eric remarked.

“Oh God—”

“Aiyah, stop scaring the poor girl,” Lillian May scoffed. As the family emerged from their cars and prepared to enter the house, Geraldine whispered a final warning to her mother. “Remember…DO NOT bring up Nicky again. You almost caused Auntie Su Yi to have a stroke last year when you asked where he was.”

“What makes you think Nicky won’t be here this year?” Lillian May asked as she crouched down by the Mercedes’s side mirror to rearrange the elaborate wisps of hair cascading down her neck.

Geraldine glanced around quickly before continuing. “Aiyah, you don’t even know the latest! Monica Lee told me that her niece Parker Yeo heard the most sensational tidbit from Teddy Lim: Apparently, Nicky’s all set to marry that girl next month. Instead of a grand wedding here they are getting married in California on a beach! Can you imagine?”

“Hiyah—what a disgrace! Poor Su Yi. And poor Eleanor. What a loss of face—all her efforts to position Nicky as the most favored grandson have been dashed.”

“Remember, Mummy, um ngoi hoi seh, ah. Don’t say anything!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a thing to Su Yi,” Lillian May promised. She was glad to be here at Tyersall Park at last, in this oasis of splendor far removed from the garish New Year kitsch that adorned the rest of the island. To Lillian, there was this sense of being in an enchanted time warp the moment she passed through the front door. It was a house that adhered only to the traditions decreed by its exacting chatelaine, transforming for the festive season in its own subtle ways. The white phalae-nopsis orchids that usually greeted visitors on the ancient stone table in the foyer were replaced by a towering arrangement of pink peonies. Upstairs in the drawing room, a twenty-foot-long calligraphy scroll bearing a New Year poem by Xu Zhimo—composed in tribute to Su Yi’s late husband, Sir James Young—would be unfurled against the silver- and lapis-inlaid wall, and the white voile curtains that usually flapped against the veranda doors would be swapped for watered-silk panels in the palest shimmering rose.

In the sun-soaked conservatory, the New Year tea ritual was just beginning. Su Yi, resplendent in a high-necked turquoise silk charmeuse dress and a single opera-length strand of cultured pearls, sat on a cushioned wicker chair by the French doors with her trusty Thai lady’s maids standing solemnly behind her, while three of her middle-aged children stood in a row before her like school kids waiting to turn in their homework. Felicity and Victoria watched as their brother, Philip, ceremoniously offered the little teacup to his mother with both hands and formally offered wishes of good health and prosperity. After Su Yi took a sip of the oolong tea infused with dried red dates, it was Eleanor’s turn. As Eleanor began pouring the steaming liquid from the ornately carved Qing dragon teapot, the first guests of the morning could be heard arriving.

“Hiyah, those Tans come earlier and earlier every year!” Felicity said irritatedly.

Victoria shook her head in disapproval. “That Geraldine is always worried that she’ll miss out on the food. She gets fatter and fatter every year—I’m scared to imagine what her triglyceride level must be.”

“Now, didn’t that good-for-nothing Eric Tan just marry some Indonesian girl? I wonder how dark she is going to be,” Felicity said.

“She’s Indonesian Chinese—her mother is one of the Liem sisters, so I bet you she will be fairer than all of us put together. Now don’t say a thing, but Cassandra warned me that Auntie Lillian May just got back from America and is sporting a new wig. She thinks it makes her look younger, but Cassandra thinks she looks like a pontianak,” Victoria muttered.

“Goodness gracious!” Felicity giggled.

Just then, Lillian May breezed into the room, followed by a retinue of sons and daughters, assorted spouses, and grandchildren. The matriarch of the Tan family approached Su Yi, bowed ever so slightly, and offered the traditional New Year greeting: “Gong hei fat choy!”

“Gong hei fat choy. And who are you?” Su Yi asked, peering at her through her trademark tinted bifocals.

Lillian May looked taken aback. “Su Yi, it’s me. Lillian May Tan!”

Su Yi paused for a moment before saying, completely deadpan, “Oh, I didn’t recognize you with your new hairstyle. I thought that wicked English woman from Dynasty had come to visit me.”

Lillian didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended, but everyone else in the room broke out in laughter.

Soon, more members of the extended Young–T’sien–Shang clan began to arrive, and everyone rushed around gongheifatchoying the hell out of each other, handing ang pows to the kids, complimenting one another’s outfits, commenting on who had put on weight or looked too skinny, trading reports on whose house just sold for how much, showing off pictures of their most recent holiday/grandchild/medical procedure, and stuffing their faces with pineapple tarts.

As guests began dispersing toward the grand staircase and the upstairs drawing room, Lillian May took the opportunity to greet Eleanor. “I didn’t want to compliment you in front of Felicity and Victoria, who are always so jealous of you, but I must say your purple wrap dress is a winner! You are by far the most elegant woman in the room!”

Eleanor smiled graciously. “You look lovely too. That’s quite an outfit…is the caftan detachable?”

“I got this when I was visiting my sister in San Francisco. It’s this marvelous new designer I discovered. What was the name? Let me think…Eddie Fisher. No, no, that’s not right…Eileen Fisher! Now, the West Coast has really had an unseasonably cold winter. You really must pack some extra-warm clothing for your trip.”

“My trip?” Eleanor furrowed her brow.

“To California?”

“I’m not going to California.”

“But surely you and Philip are going to—” Lillian began, before suddenly breaking off.

“To what?”

“Dear me, I’m such a fool…I’m sorry, I confused you with someone else for a moment,” Lillian sputtered. “Geik toh sei! I am getting so senile. Oh look, Astrid and Michael are here! Doesn’t Astrid look divine? And little Cassian looks so adorable in that bow tie. I must go and pinch that cutie pie’s cheeks!”

Eleanor’s jaw tightened. This Lillian May was such a bad liar. Something was up in California, and Eleanor’s mind reeled at all the possibilities. Why would she and Philip ever go to godforsaken California together? Unless there was some big event involving Nicky. Was he finally getting married? Yes, yes, that must be what was happening. Of course, the one person who would know the truth was Astrid, who at this very minute was standing at the staircase landing while Lillian May rather bizarrely stroked her dress. From afar, Astrid appeared to be wearing a rather simple white shift with blue detailing on the sleeves and hemline, but as Eleanor got closer, she realized that the blue detailing was actually silk embroidery that mimicked Delft china patterns.

“Aiyah, Astrid, every year I come here just to see what couture dress you’ll be wearing! And you certainly didn’t disappoint—you are by far the most elegant woman in the room. Who are you wearing? Is it Balmain? Chanel? Dior?” Lillian May gushed.

“Oh, this is just a little experiment that my friend Jun whipped up for me,” Astrid said.

“It’s absolutely divine! And Michael—from Toa Payoh to tycoon! My son tells me you have become the Steve Gates of Singapore!”

“Ha, ha. No lah, Auntie,” Michael responded, too polite to correct the old lady.

“It’s true. Every time I open Business Times I see your face. Do you have a hot tip for me?” Eleanor asked as she joined the group.

“Auntie Elle, from what my friends at G. K. Goh tell me, you’re the one who could give me a few stock tips!” Michael laughed, clearly enjoying this new adoration from his wife’s relatives.

“Rubbish, lah! I am just a small fry compared to you. Excuse me, but I need to borrow your wife for a minute,” Eleanor said, grabbing hold of Astrid’s elbow and steering her down the long gallerylike drawing room to the corner by the grand piano. The young pianist, who looked like he was barely out of his first year at the Raffles Music College as he sweated profusely in his suit, was playing some innocuous Chopin étude.

Astrid knew from the force of her grip that Eleanor meant business. Talking over the music, Eleanor said, “I want you to tell me the truth. Is Nicky getting married in California?”

Astrid took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“And when is this happening?”

“I don’t want to lie to you, but I specifically promised Nicky I would not give out any details, so you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“You know as well as I do that my son has refused to take my calls for over two years!”

“Well, that’s between you and him. Please don’t put me in the middle of this.”

“You are in the middle of this whether you like it or not, because you two have been keeping secrets!” Eleanor was fuming.

Astrid sighed. She hated confrontations like this. “Given the circumstances, I think you know exactly why I can’t tell you.”

“Come on, I have a right to know!”

“Yes, but you have no right to sabotage his wedding.”

“I’m not going to sabotage anything! You have to tell me! I’M HIS MOTHER, DAMN IT!” Eleanor exploded, forgetting where she was. The shocked pianist stopped playing, and suddenly all eyes in the room were on them. Astrid could see that even her grandmother was peering over in their direction with displeasure.

Astrid pursed her lips, refusing to say anything.

Eleanor looked at her sharply. “This is unbelievable!”

“No, what’s unbelievable is how you can expect Nicky to want you anywhere near his wedding,” Astrid said, her voice shaking, before she stalked off.

Three weeks before the New Year, the chefs from the Young, Shang, and T’sien households would gather at Tyersall Park’s cavernous kitchen to begin the marathon production of New Year delicacies. Marcus Sim, the Shang family’s acclaimed pastry chef based at their estate in England, would fly in to prepare all manner of nyonya desserts—rainbow-hued kueh lapis, delicately sculpted ang koo kueh, and of course, his famous kueh bangkit cookies with Marcona almonds. Ah Lian, the T’siens’ longtime cook, would supervise the team responsible for the labor-intensive preparation of pineapple tarts, sinfully sweet nien gao, and savory tsai tao kueh radish cakes. And Ah Ching, the chef at Tyersall Park, would oversee the New Year’s Day luncheon where a gigantic baked ham (with her famous pineapple brandy sauce) would make its annual appearance.

But for the first time in as many years as she could remember, Eleanor did not enjoy her lunch. She hardly touched any of the ham that Geraldine Tan proclaimed to be “even juicier than last year’s,” and she couldn’t even face her favorite neen gao. She loved the way the sticky-rice-flour dessert cake was prepared here—cut into half-moon slices, dipped in egg batter, and fried to a golden brown so that the outer layer of the cake was light and crisp, yet sweet and gooey the minute you bit into it. But today, she just didn’t have the appetite for anything. Following strict seating protocol, she was trapped next to Bishop See Bei Sien, and she glared at her husband on the other side of the table who was tucking into another helping of ham as he chatted with the bishop’s wife. How could he eat at a time like this? An hour ago, she had asked Philip whether he had heard anything regarding Nicky and a wedding, and he had shocked her by saying, “Of course.”

“WHAAAT? Why didn’t you tell me, lah?”

“There was nothing to tell. I knew we weren’t going to go.”

“What do you mean? TELL ME EVERYTHING!” Eleanor demanded.

“Nicky called me in Sydney and asked me if I wanted to come to his wedding. I asked if you were invited, and he said no. So I told him, Good luck chap, but I won’t be coming if your mother doesn’t,” Philip calmly explained.

“Where is the wedding? When is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alamak! How can you not know when he invited you?”

Philip sighed. “I didn’t think to ask. It wasn’t relevant since we weren’t going.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the conversation in the first place?”

“Because I knew you were going to be unreasonable about it.”

“You are a moron! An absolute moron!” Eleanor screeched.

“See, I knew you were going to be unreasonable.”

Eleanor played with her braised noodles, seething on the inside as she pretended to listen to the bishop complain about some pastor’s wife who was spending millions trying to become a famous pop star. At the children’s table, Cassian’s au pair was trying to coax him into finishing his lunch. “I don’t want noodles! I want ice cream!” the boy fussed.

“It’s Chinese New Year. No ice cream for you today,” his au pair said firmly.

Suddenly, an idea came to Eleanor. She whispered to one of the serving maids, “Can you please tell Ah Ching that I have a sore throat from all this heaty food and I’m desperately craving some ice cream?”

“Ice cream, ma’am?”

“Yes, any flavor. Anything you might have in the kitchen. But don’t bring it to me here—I’ll meet you in the library.”

Fifteen minutes later, after having paid off Cassian’s au pair with five crisp hundred-dollar bills, Eleanor was sitting at the black lacquered scholar’s table in the library, watching the little boy devour an ice-cream sundae out of a large silver bowl.

“Cassian, when your mummy is away, you just tell Ludivine to call me, and my driver will come and pick you up and take you for ice cream anytime you like,” Eleanor said.

“Really?” Cassian said, wide-eyed.

“Absolutely. It will be our little secret. When is your mother going away? Did she tell you she is getting on an aeroplane and going to America soon?”

“Uh-huh. In March.”

“Did she tell you where she was going? Is she going to Cupertino? Or San Francisco? Los Angeles? Disneyland?”

“LA,” Cassian said while gulping down another spoonful.

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. March gave her enough time. She patted the boy on the head and smiled as he stained the entire front of his Bonpoint dress shirt with hot fudge. Serves Astrid right for trying to keep things from me!