13
Cameron Highlands
•
MALAYSIA
Nick borrowed his father’s 1963 Jaguar E-Type roadster from the garage at Tyersall Park, and he and Rachel headed onto the Pan Island Expressway, bound for the bridge that linked Singapore to the Malay Peninsula. From Johor Bahru, they drove up the Utara-Selatan Highway, detouring to the seaside town of Malacca so that Nick could show Rachel the distinctive crimson-hued façade of Christ Church, built by the Dutch when the town was part of their colonial empire, and the charmingly ornate Peranakan row houses along Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock.
Afterward, they stayed on the old road that skirted along the Negeri Sembilan coast for a while. With the top down and the warm ocean breeze on her face, Rachel began to feel more relaxed than she had since arriving in Asia. The trauma of the past few days was dissipating, and at last it felt like they were truly on holiday together. She loved the wildness of these back roads, the rustic seaside hamlets that seemed untouched by time, the way Nick looked with day-old stubble and the wind whipping through his hair. A few miles north of Port Dickson, Nick turned down a dirt road thick with tropical vegetation, and as Rachel looked inland, she could glimpse miles and miles of uniformly planted trees.
“What are those perfect rows of trees?” Rachel asked.
“Rubber—we’re surrounded by rubber plantations,” Nick explained. They pulled up to a spot right by the beach, got out of the car, took off their sandals, and strolled onto the hot sand. A few Malay families were scattered about the beach having lunch, the ladies’ colorful head scarves flapping in the wind as they bustled around canteens of food and children who were more interested in frolicking in the surf. It was a cloudy day, and the sea was a mottled tapestry of deep green with patches of azure where the clouds broke.
A Malay woman and her son came toward them, hauling a big blue-and-white Styrofoam cooler. Nick began talking animatedly with the woman, buying two bundles from her Igloo before bending down and asking the boy a question. The boy nodded eagerly and ran off, while Nick found a shady spot underneath the low-hanging branches of a mangrove tree.
He handed Rachel a still-warm banana-leaf packet tied with string. “Try Malaysia’s most popular dish—nasi lemak,” he said. Rachel undid the string and the glossy banana leaf unfolded to reveal a neatly composed mound of rice surrounded by sliced cucumbers, tiny fried anchovies, roasted peanuts, and a hard-boiled egg.
“Pass me a fork,” Rachel said.
“There’s no fork. You get to go native on this—use your fingers!” Nick grinned.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, that’s the traditional way. Malays believe the food actually tastes better when you eat with your hands. They only use the right hand to eat, of course. The left hand is used for purposes better left unmentioned.”
“But I haven’t washed my hands, Nick. I don’t think I can eat like this,” Rachel said, sounding a little alarmed.
“Come on, Miss OCD. Tough it out,” Nick teased. He scooped some of the rice into his fingers and began eating the nasi lemak with gusto.
Rachel gingerly scooped some of the rice into her mouth, instantly breaking into a smile. “Mmmm . . . it’s coconut rice!”
“Yes, but you haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. Dig a little deeper!”
Rachel dug into her rice and discovered a curry sauce oozing out from the middle along with big chunks of chicken. “Oh my God,” she said. “Does it taste this good because of all the different flavors or because we’re sitting on this gorgeous beach eating it?”
“Oh, I think it’s your hands. Your grotty hands are giving the food all the added flavor,” Nick said.
“I’m about to slap you with my grotty curry hands!” Rachel scowled at him. Just as she was finishing her last bite, the little boy from earlier ran up with two clear-plastic drinking bags filled with rough chunks of ice and freshly squeezed sugarcane juice. Nick took the drinks from the boy and handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Kamu anak yang baik,” he said, patting the boy on the shoulder. The boy’s eyes widened in delight. He tucked the money into the elastic band of his soccer shorts and scrambled off to tell his mother about his windfall.
“You never cease to amaze me, Nicholas Young. Why didn’t I know you spoke Malay?” Rachel said.
“Only a few rudimentary words—enough to order food,” Nick replied modestly.
“That conversation you had earlier didn’t sound rudimentary to me,” Rachel countered, sipping the icy sweet sugarcane through a thin pink straw tucked into the corner of the plastic bag.
“Trust me, I’m sure that lady was cringing at my grammar.” Nick shrugged.
“You’re doing it again, Nick,” Rachel said.
“Doing what?
“You’re doing that annoying self-deprecating thing.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
Rachel sighed in exasperation. “You say you don’t speak Malay when I hear you yapping away. You say, ‘Oh, this old house,’ when we’re in a friggin’ palace. You downplay everything, Nick!”
“I don’t even realize when I’m doing it,” Nick said.
“Why? I mean, you downplay things to the point that your parents don’t even have a clue how well you’re doing in New York.”
“It’s just the way I was brought up, I guess.”
“Do you think it’s because your family is so wealthy and you had to overcompensate by being super-modest?” Rachel suggested.
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I was just trained to speak precisely and never to be boastful. Also, we’re not that wealthy.”
“Well then, what are you exactly? Are you guys worth hundreds of millions or billions?”
Nick’s face began to redden, but Rachel wouldn’t let up.
“I know it makes you uncomfortable, Nick, but that’s why I’m prodding you. You’re telling me one thing, but then I hear other people speaking as if the entire economy of Asia revolves around your family, and you’re, like, the heir to the throne. I’m an economist, for crying out loud, and if I’m going to be accused of being a gold digger, I’d like to know what I’m supposedly digging for,” Rachel said bluntly.
Nick fidgeted with the remnant of his banana leaf nervously. Since he was old enough to remember, it had been ingrained into him that any talk of the family wealth was off-limits. But it was only fair that Rachel know what she was getting herself into, especially if he was (very shortly) going to ask her to accept the canary diamond ring hidden in the lower right pocket of his cargo shorts.
“I know this may sound silly, but the truth is I really don’t know how rich my family is,” Nick began tentatively. “Now, my parents live very well, mostly due to the legacy my mum received from her parents. And I have a private income that’s not too shabby, mainly from stocks left to me by my grandfather. But we don’t have the kind of money that Colin’s or Astrid’s family does, not even close.”
“But how about your grandmother? I mean, Peik Lin says that Tyersall Park must be worth hundreds of millions just for the land alone,” Rachel interjected.
“My grandmother has always lived in the manner that she has, so I can only presume that her holdings are substantial. Three times a year Mr. Tay, an elderly gentleman from the family bank, comes up to Tyersall Park in the same brown Peugeot he’s driven ever since I was born and pays a visit to my grandmother. She meets with him alone, and it’s the only time her lady’s maids have to leave the room. So it’s never crossed my mind to ask her how much she’s worth.”
“And your father never talked to you about it?”
“My father has never once brought up the subject of money—he probably knows even less than I do. You know, when there’s always been money in your life, it’s not something you spend much time thinking about.”
Rachel tried to wrap her mind around that concept. “So why does everyone think you’ll end up inheriting everything?”
Nick bristled. “This is Singapore, and the idle rich spend all their time gossiping about other people’s money. Who’s worth how much, who inherited how much, who sold their house for how much. But everything that’s said about my family is pure speculation. The point is, I’ve never presumed that I will one day be the sole inheritor of some great fortune.”
“But you must have known that you were different?” Rachel said.
“Well, I sensed that I was different because I lived in this big old house with all these rituals and traditions, but I never thought it had anything to do with money. When you’re a kid, you’re more concerned with how many pineapple tarts you’re allowed to eat or where to catch the best tadpoles. I didn’t grow up with a sense of entitlement like some of my cousins did. At least, I hope not.”
“I wouldn’t have been attracted to you if you went around acting like some pompous prick,” Rachel said. As they walked back to the car, she slipped her arm around his waist. “Thank you for opening up. I know it wasn’t easy for you to talk about these things.”
“I want you to know everything about me, Rachel. I always have, which is why I invited you here in the first place. I’m sorry if it has felt like I wasn’t forthcoming—I just didn’t think any of this money talk was relevant. I mean, in New York, none of this really matters to our life, does it?”
Rachel paused for a while before answering. “It doesn’t, especially now that I have a better understanding of your family. I just needed to be sure that you’re the same person I fell in love with back in New York, that’s all.”
“Am I?”
“You’re way cuter now that I know you’re loaded.”
Nick laughed and pulled Rachel tightly into his arms, giving her a long, lingering kiss.
“Ready for a complete change of scenery?” he asked, kissing her chin and then moving down to the tender spot on her throat.
“I think I’m ready to get a room. Any motels close by?” Rachel breathed, her fingers still entangled in his hair, not wanting him to stop.
“I don’t think there are any motels you’d want to be in. Let’s race to Cameron Highlands before it gets dark—it’s only about three hours away. And then we can pick up where we left off on the most ginormous four-poster bed you’ve ever seen.”
They made good time on the E1 highway, passing through the capital city of Kuala Lumpur toward Ipoh. When they reached the town of Tapah—the gateway to the Cameron Highlands—Nick turned onto the picturesque old road and they began the ascent up the mountain. The car climbed the steep hill, with Nick expertly negotiating the twists and turns, honking the horn at every blind curve.
Nick was anxious to get to the house before sunset. He had called ahead and given explicit instructions to Rajah, the majordomo. There were going to be votive candles in white paper bags lining the way down to the lookout point at the end of the lawn, and a stand with chilled champagne and fresh mangosteens right next to the carved wooden bench where they could sit and take in the scenic view. Then, just as the sun was sinking behind the hills and thousands of tropical birds descended into the treetops, he would get down on one knee and ask Rachel to be his forever. He wondered which was the correct knee to get down on? Right or left?
Rachel, meanwhile, found herself clutching at her seat-belt buckle tightly as she gazed out the window at sheer drops down into junglelike ravines. “Uh, I’m in no hurry to die,” she announced anxiously.
“I’m only going forty miles per hour. Don’t worry, I can drive this road blindfolded—I used to come here almost every weekend during the summer holidays. Plus, don’t you think it would be a glamorous way to die—careening down the side of a mountain in a classic Jag convertible?” Nick cracked, trying to diffuse the tension.
“If it’s all right with you, I’d rather live a few days longer. Annnnd, I’d rather be in an old Ferrari, like James Dean,” Rachel quipped.
“Actually, it was a Porsche.”
“Smart-ass!”
The hairpin curves soon gave way to a breathtaking view of undulating green hills punctuated by bright swaths of color. In the distance, Rachel could make out flower orchards tucked along the hillsides and quaint little cottages.
“This is Bertam Valley,” Nick said with a flourish. “We’re about twelve hundred meters above sea level now. Back in the colonial days this was where British officers would come to escape the tropical heat.”
Just past the town of Tanah Rata, they turned onto a narrow private road that snaked its way up a lushly planted hill. Behind another curve, a stately Tudor-style manor house on its own hillock suddenly reared into view. “I thought you promised you weren’t going to take me to some luxury hotel,” Rachel said in a half-chiding tone.
“This isn’t a hotel, this is my grandmother’s summer lodge.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Rachel said, gazing at the beautiful structure. The lodge wasn’t nearly as big as Tyersall Park, but it still looked formidably grand with its gabled roofs and black-and-white timbered woodwork. The whole place was aglow with lights blazing from the casement windows.
“Looks like we’ve been expected,” Rachel said.
“Well, I called ahead for them to prepare for our arrival—there’s a full staff all year round,” Nick replied. The house was situated halfway up a gentle slope, with a long, paved stone path leading up to the front door. Its façade was partially covered in ivy and wisteria, and lining both sides of the slope were rosebushes that grew almost up to eye level.
Rachel sighed, thinking she had never seen such a romantic mountain haven in her life. “What enormous roses!”
“These are special Cameronian roses that only grow in this climate. Isn’t the scent intoxicating?” Nick chatted on nervously. He knew he was only minutes away from one of the seminal moments of his life.
A young Malay butler wearing a crisp white dress shirt tucked into a gray-patterned sarong opened the door, bowing gallantly at them. Nick wondered where Rajah, the longtime butler, was. Rachel stepped into the front foyer and felt as if she had been transported once again into another era, to the colonial Malaya of a Somerset Maugham novel, perhaps. Anglo Raj wooden benches in the front hall were interspersed with wicker baskets brimming with freshly picked camellias, mica-shade lanterns hung from the mahogany-paneled walls, and a long, faded Tianjin silk carpet drew the eye straight back to the French doors and the glorious view of the highlands.
“Er, before I show you the rest of the house, let’s, um, take in the sunset view,” Nick said, feeling his throat go dry with anticipation. He led Rachel across the foyer and reached for the handle of the French doors leading out onto the terrace. Then suddenly he halted. He blinked a few times just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Standing at the edge of the expansive formal lawn having a smoke was Ahmad, his mother’s chauffeur.
“Fuck me!” Nick swore under his breath.
“What? What’s wrong?” Rachel asked.
“I think we’ve got company,” Nick muttered darkly. He turned around, heading for the drawing room down the hall. Peering in, his suspicions were confirmed. Sure enough, perched on the floral chintz settee facing the door was his mother, who shot him a rather triumphant look as he entered the room. He was about to say something when his mother announced, a little too cheerily, “Oh look, Mummy, Nick and Rachel have arrived!”
Rachel spun around. Sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace was Nick’s grandmother, swaddled in an embroidered cashmere shawl, being poured a cup of tea by one of her Thai lady’s maids.
“Ah Ma, what are you doing here?” Nick asked in astonishment.
“I received some very disturbing news, and so we rushed up here,” Su Yi said in Mandarin, speaking slowly and deliberately.
Nick always found it disconcerting when his grandmother spoke to him in Mandarin—he associated that particular dialect with childhood scoldings. “What news? What has happened?” Nick asked, getting concerned.
“Well, I heard that you ran off to Malaysia, and that you mean to ask the girl to marry you,” Su Yi said, not bothering to look at Rachel.
Rachel pursed her lips, shocked and thrilled at the same time.
“I was planning to surprise Rachel, but I guess that’s ruined now,” Nick huffed, staring at his mother.
“No matter, Nicky,” his grandmother smiled. “I do not give you permission to marry her. Now let’s stop all this nonsense and go home. I don’t want to be stuck having dinner here, when the cook hasn’t prepared properly for me. I’m sure she didn’t get any fresh fish today.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped.
“Ah Ma, I’m sorry I don’t have your blessing, but that doesn’t change a thing. I intend to marry Rachel, if she’ll have me,” Nick said calmly, glancing at Rachel hopefully.
“Don’t talk nonsense. This girl does not come from a proper family,” Su Yi said.
Rachel felt her face go hot. “I’ve heard enough of this,” she said in a quivering voice, turning to leave the room.
“No, Rachel, please don’t go,” Nick said, grabbing her by the arm. “I need you to hear this. Ah Ma, I don’t know what stories you’ve been told, but I have met Rachel’s family, and I like them very much. They have certainly shown me a great deal more courtesy, warmth, and respect than our family has shown to Rachel.”
“Of course they should respect you—after all, you’re a Young,” Su Yi said.
“I can’t believe you just said that!” Nick groaned.
Eleanor stood up and approached Rachel, looking her in the eye. “Rachel, I’m sure you’re a nice girl. You must know I am doing you a favor. With your kind of background, you will be miserable in this family—”
“Stop insulting Rachel’s family when you don’t even know them!” Nick snapped. He put his arm on Rachel’s shoulder and declared, “Let’s get out of here!”
“You’ve met her family?” Eleanor called after him.
Nick turned back with a scowl. “Yes, I’ve met Rachel’s mother many times, and I went to Thanksgiving at her uncle’s in California, where I got to know many of her relatives.”
“Even her father?” Eleanor asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Rachel’s father died a long time ago, you already know that,” Nick said impatiently.
“Well, that’s a very convenient story, isn’t it? But I assure you he’s very much alive,” Eleanor shot back.
“What?” Rachel said, confused.
“Rachel, you can stop pretending, lah. I know all about your father—”
“What?”
“Aiyoh, look at her act!” Eleanor twisted her face mockingly. “You know as well as I do that your father is still alive!”
Rachel looked at Eleanor as if she was talking to a deranged woman. “My father died in a horrible industrial accident when I was two months old. That’s why my mother brought me to America.”
Eleanor studied the girl for a moment, trying to discern whether she was giving the performance of a lifetime or speaking the truth. “Well, I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you, Rachel. Your father did not die. He’s in a prison outside Shenzhen. I met him myself a few weeks ago. The man was rotting away behind rusty bars, but he still had the nerve to demand an enormous dowry in exchange for you!”
Eleanor took out a faded manila envelope, the same envelope she had been given by the investigator in Shenzhen. She placed three pieces of paper on the coffee table. One was a copy of Rachel’s original birth certificate. The next was a 1992 press clipping about the jailing of a man named Zhou Fang Min, after he had ordered illegal cost-cutting measures that led to a construction accident that killed seventy-four workers in Shenzhen (HUO PENG CONDO TRAGEDY UPDATE: MONSTER JAILED AT LAST! the headline screamed). The third was a notice of a reward from the Zhou family, for the safe return of a baby named Zhou An Mei, who had been kidnapped by her mother, Kerry Ching, in 1981.
Nick and Rachel took a few steps toward the table and stared at the papers in astonishment.
“What the hell did you do, Mum? You had Rachel’s family investigated?” Nick kicked over the coffee table.
Nick’s grandmother shook her head as she sipped her tea. “Imagine wanting to marry a girl from such a family! So disgraceful! Really, Nicky, what would Gong Gong say if he was alive? Madri, this tea needs a little more sugar.”
Nick was livid. “Ah Ma, it’s taken me about twenty years, but I finally understand why Dad moved to Sydney! He can’t stand being around you!”
Su Yi put down her teacup, stunned by what her favorite grandson had just said.
Rachel grabbed at Nick’s wrist urgently. He would never forget the look of devastation on her face. “I think . . . need air,” she muttered, before collapsing into the wicker tea cart.