The Love of Her Life

asian chic a novel by

Her

Keshara Young

a novel by

Keshara Young

Marshall Cavendish Editions

Copyright © 2009 Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited Cover art by Opal Works Co. Limited Published by Marshall Cavendish Editions An imprint of Marshall Cavendish International 1 New Industrial road, Singapore 536196 All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Request for permission should be addressed to the Publisher, Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited, 1 New Industrial Road, Singapore 536196. Tel: (65) 6213 9300, Fax: (65) 6285 4871. E-mail: [email protected]. com. Website: www.marshallcavendish.com/genref The publisher makes no representation or warranties with respect to the contents of this book, and specifically disclaims any implied warranties or merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose, and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages. Other Marshall Cavendish Offices Marshall Cavendish Ltd. 5th Floor 32–38 Saffron Hill, London EC1N 8FH • Marshall Cavendish Corporation. 99 White Plains Road, Tarrytown NY 105919001, USA • Marshall Cavendish International (Thailand) Co Ltd. 253 Asoke, 12th Flr, Sukhumvit 21 Road, Klongtoey Nua, Wattana, Bangkok 10110, Thailand • Marshall Cavendish (Malaysia) Sdn Bhd, Times Subang, Lot 46, Subang Hi-Tech Industrial Park, Batu Tiga, 40000 Shah Alam, Selangor Darul Ehsan, Malaysia Marshall Cavendish is a trademark of Times Publishing Limited National Library Board Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data Young, Keshara. The love of her life : a novel / by Keshara Young. – Singapore : Marshall Cavendish Editions, c2009. p. cm. – (Asian chic) ISBN-13 : 978-981-261-871-9 1. Marriage – Fiction. 2. First loves – Fiction. 3. Love stories. I. Title. II. Series: Asian chic. PR9570.S53 S823 — dc22

OCN318864797

Printed in Singapore by Craft Print International Ltd.

This book is dedicated to Captain YSC, all the wonderful pilots in the Republic of Singapore Air Force, their wives and families, and their girlfriends and lovers ... ‘You are incredible.’ and to my father whose love for the English language rules my days.

All characters in this story are fictional and the imagination of Keshara Young. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.

1

Samantha leaned forward and extinguished her slim cigarette. Uncrossing her pale gray-stockinged legs, she got up with the grace of a cat, slowly and in one fluid motion. It was a movement made perfect by endless practice in front of her ‘Etiquette and Social Graces’ Mamselle who ran a very expensive finishing school in the middle of Europe that only the rich and the famous knew about. This was where young heiresses were sent to finish their formal education so that they could enter society with grace and cunning. David was late again. Her exquisite Van Cleef & Arpels watch told her that she would have to wait for an hour. She sighed. She should have called for her own chauffeur but David did say he would swing by with a surprise. She already knew most of his surprises so it was more of just wanting to be picked up by David Chang from a public place. It was important for the Changs to be seen together in public places and being picked up from the front of the Regent Hotel at Cuscaden Road in Singapore on a Saturday afternoon was public enough to merit her wait. Adjusting her light gray Chanel suit with cream piping, she squared her shoulders and walked with that easy way that the magazines have picked up on several

times to comment ‘the effortless grace of Samantha Chang’ as she entered ballrooms, walked up to podiums or just presided over formal dinners at the invitations of Singapore women’s clubs. The thick carpet pile sank under her shoes. She has always loved shoes. Ever since the first pair she chose under the encouraging eyes of her doting father, she loved shoes. That first pair was from a tiny Italian boutique where the shoemaker created only 10 pairs a month, personally and painstakingly. His shoes were heaven. No matter how high, they took you through the day on a floating cloud, possibly a pink floating cloud with silver bells to be exact. You felt elegant, poised and together just slipping them on. What a feeling. It never left her, that need to buy only perfect shoes. It was too bad that the good brandnames were increasingly forced to make their shoes in China. The end result was no longer the same and she scorned such shoes and brands. Walking across to the hotel shop to pick up a copy of French Vogue, she knew she was being looked at. Why else would her mother have paid all that money all those years for all those lessons. When Samantha walked, she was a work of art. And she knew it. “Sam!” Samantha turned her head at the sound of her name. It could not be for her. No one has called her that for years now. Not in public anyway. “SAM! Hi! Hi! It’s me … May!” This woman is persistent, Samantha thought. Maybe from some charity ball she had graced. Which May? She knew at least five. Sam turned around to the

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direction of the voice. Various people in the hotel lobby were staring straight at her, the men curiously and the women somewhat enviously. The magazines were right. Samantha Chang was a vision to behold when she walked and dressed that way, Vogue would have had to pay quite a bit to have her face on their front cover. If Asia were to have a princess in a fairy tale, Samantha would have been Aurora, Cinderella and Mulan all in one. If she had been born a Soong, she would have been the legendary Soong Mei Ling. In Singapore, she was unmistakeably the Samantha Chang, wife to business tycoon David Chang. Slim, tall, long silky hair that swooshed down to the small of her back, incredibly white flawless skin on a perfect face, she was classy, beautiful and young. “It’s me, May!” the voice repeated. In front of her, a dumpy-looking woman stood with her plain white Indian cotton blouse and a large floral print gathered skirt that made her look twice as dumpy. What a sight, Samantha thought. A walking, talking fashion disaster! A child of about four years old was hanging on to May, licking a dripping ice-cream that seemed ready to drop onto the plush carpet. At the sight of the child and the ice-cream, Sam took a breath. Oh dear. Children and ice-creams do not go well with Chanel suits in close proximity. It was the child who caught her attention though. The similarity was too striking and Samantha knew that a prolonged meeting was now quite inevitable. “Oh, hello May! I haven’t seen you for a while. Such a long time really. I hardly recognize you. You look great.

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Wonderful and young. So young. Is this your child? She looks just like you,” Sam lied. The Finishing School of Elite Women had taught Samantha well. When confronted with an old school mate, gush a little, pay some compliments and ensure they remember you well so they talk about you positively. “It’s so very important that they speak well of you, now that you are in high society. You absolutely do not want them to leak their negative memories of you to the press. Absolutely no-no-no,” Mamselle had emphasized. May, with the benefit of no such training, rattled on. “You look soo gooood! So very good. Much better than the magazines. That’s what I tell Chee Pin all the time. You are always so beautiful.” At the sound of his name, Samantha missed a breath ever so indiscernibly. Chee Pin. So many thoughts. Feelings. Outwardly, she smiled. “How have you been? I see your picture in The Singapore Tatler all the time, and in magazines here and there, and I often wonder. I remember all the wonderful times we spent together growing up before you left for boarding school at Sirray.” May pronounced Surrey all wrong of course. Samantha stopped herself from correcting this old time person who has now ascended into her reality and seems determined to become her ‘friend’ again. “Let me buy you coffee. I got paid last week and we were just having ice-cream here. We are waiting for Chee Pin. Adele loves the imported ice-cream at this coffee house.” Chee Pin. It has been years. How was he, she wondered.

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She remembered the last letter she wrote him. Ten years ago. 20 May 1998. The date had stuck in her mind. Samantha, like her father, was blessed with an almost photographic memory but this date stuck for different reasons. It was the day she decided to leave her past behind and walk forward into her life as the daughter of Mr Ng FF. Before that, Chee Pin had written asking her to make up her mind. She did. She chose to be the daughter of her father and not entertain the possibility of simple loves and childish fairy tale endings of ‘love happily ever after’. Chee Pin. She would like to see him again … it has been years. She looked at May and smiled, “Yes, of course, yes. I would love to have coffee with you and Adele at The Tea Lounge. Let me buy. I am delighted to see you both. Chee Pin can join us later when he comes.” The two women and child walked towards the hotel’s coffee house now called The Tea Lounge, referring to all those sumptuous high teas that socialite wannabes had there on lazy afternoons. Samantha, tall, graceful, with the training and deportment of a woman of the world to make entrances even when none was demanded, and May, small, housewifely, in her Indian cotton dress that she bought from the neighborhood shop, a $10 find she delighted in—it was cheap and looked like something from those top brands, so May had said—and Adele, sweet, chirpy, licking her ice-cream, dressed in a pink frock that looked too new and dressy for a simple ice-cream outing. The waitress, recognizing Mrs Chang, came up immediately and showed them to her preferred table

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at The Tea Lounge. It was a quiet corner hidden from the main crowd where people could converse without interruption or where a single diner could observe her surroundings while being lost in her dreams. It was Mrs Chang’s favorite table, the staff knew, and on Monday evenings they kept the table for her as she had a tendency to turn up, sometimes alone, sometimes with a girlfriend or two, occasionally with a man, but rarely with her husband. Samantha said ‘thank you’ to the waitress who already knew that her tip that afternoon would be double the usual amount she would receive for an entire afternoon of work, and then said in her quiet voice, “The same please.” The waitress nodded. May, being May, said, “What same? They know what you want? What do you have here? Is it good?” Realizing that May was not the usual kind of friend that Mrs Chang brought to her table, the waitress spoke up, “Mrs Chang usually takes sparkling water with a slice of lemon on the side.” “They know you!” May said, only somewhat surprised. Samantha smiled. “Mineral water in a hotel is expensive. I’ll have coffee. Please bring brown sugar,” May said to the waitress. She turned to Sam and said, “Brown sugar is so much better than white.” The waitress nodded, noting to herself that mineral water in a six-star hotel was cheaper than burning calories off in health clubs that Mrs Chang might have to visit to keep her figure if she took brown sugar. Known as ‘Irene’

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to her friends, the waitress has been at this job for so long that she knew the habits of the rich and famous to this hotel, and understood that discretion meant higher tips while non-discretion meant possible job losses and even lawyer letters to the hotel threatening law suits that the hotel staff have been less than discreet with personal information. She knew. Irene had seen nasty things happen, like what happened to her best friend, Poh Ling, who lost her job at another downtown hotel along Orchard Road because she had sympathized with the wife of the owner-boss of a listed transport company on the Singapore Stock Exchange (SGX). The wife had come into the coffee house looking for him one night and was crying. Everyone knew that that owner-boss had a room in the hotel booked under his company’s account with a running tab to the company and how he frequented every few nights with girls he picked off a specific street near Geylang. Not quite the usual nightwalkers, but white-collar call girls. Many were students trying to earn some money through school. They worked from six in the evening to about two in the morning. Most of their clients held professional jobs and went home to unsuspecting wives. For Poh Ling, she was just sympathizing with the woman, feeling her humiliation that her husband dated young girls so openly at that popular downtown hotel. That transport boss even often repeated the girls. The entire coffee house staff on duty knew whenever he was there; he would order wanton mee in the middle of the night, eat fast and walk off, signing the bill to the room. The young girl would follow closely behind, usually a

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little tipsy from the cheap house wine he had ordered for her. The names and signatures on the bills were always changed to avoid tracking but the room number was always the same. Poh Ling was sacked the next day for comforting the distraught wife, thereby confirming the rumors, the late night visits to the coffee house, and the expenses wrongfully billed to the listed company. No explanations were accepted. Oh, Irene has seen so much through her years as a waitress at The Tea Lounge. The coffee house used to be upstairs on the mezzanine floor when the hotel was called The Intercontinental Hotel. Different name but the same nonsense happened, Irene thought philosophically, because people do not change. She saw the same people come and go through the years. Irene rationalized that these wealthy people must just be frequenting it for its ideal location off Orchard Road. So Irene learnt to keep mum about many things and to speak up only to please her customers. That was why she was well tipped, and why sometimes some customers would ask for her specifically. The younger waitresses knew nothing about keeping their jobs and doubling their pay just by knowing their customers’ needs, and she had no intention of teaching any of them. In any case, they were usually too lazy and would happily job-hop for a $25 increment than stay to understand their regulars. Taking Adele’s order, Irene walked away fast to bring Mrs Chang her mineral water. She liked Mrs Chang. She had style and was always, always polite, remembering her name and passing her an angpow every year.

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The drinks came, so did the second round of icecream that day for Adele whose eyes grew rounder and smile more impish. Just like her father, Samantha thought with a tinge of regret. May was talking non-stop. Samantha made the appropriate acknowledgement now and then to stay involved in the conversation, a skill she was taught, again by her Mamselle, this time in the class, ‘How To Look Interested Even When You Are Not’. Samantha was in fact watching the coffee house attentively from where she sat. May’s back was to the coffee house, so she would have had absolutely no idea who walked in or left. Samantha rarely sat with her back to the commanding view of any place she was at. Endless training had cultivated an attentiveness in Samantha regardless of the way she looked, whether she was completely relaxed or intense in conversation. Training had everything to do with who Samantha was though she never realized it. In some ways, if Samantha wanted to, she would have made a terrific secret agent. After all, she had the intelligence, looks and training of a Matahari. “Chee Pin is in the airforce now, you know. Last week, he was made Captain. He flies the new F-5s. It is our newest jet. We are so proud of him. His work is really tough. Some days he gets home and he is still totally absorbed in the flight for that day and no one can talk to him. You know they are evaluated every other week. On other days he would come home and just say he has to go through some test or other tomorrow and we would both know what that means, right Adele?” May looked at her

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daughter and smiled the conspirational smile of a proud wife who knows something that others don’t. She continued. “Adele knows when Daddy has to be in tip-top shape for the test and we would leave him alone, but it is so hard. We love him, Adele adores him just as he adores her, so it isn’t long before they are both playing in the living room and his bad mood disappears. We are a family afterall. Being a pilot is so difficult. I never knew it and if I did, I would have encouraged him to take a desk bound job instead because all that money is not worth his stress … ” May went on talking with Samantha smiling in agreement to keep her talking. One cannot keep Chee Pin away from flying, which was the entire problem, Samantha thought. If she had her way 10 years ago, she would have ensured Daddy passed her fortune to Chee Pin to manage. He would only have had to prove his worth to her father but he was only interested in flying planes. Samantha nearly shook her head involuntarily in small amazement that May, being the wife of Tan Chee Pin, knew so little about her Chee Pin. She caught her thought and wondered a moment. Her Chee Pin? She almost smiled. Chee Pin was no longer hers … or was he?

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2

Seated in the luxurious Mercedes S-Class, Samantha let out a small sigh. David had arrived earlier than usual. She did not get to see Chee Pin but had left May and Adele at The Tea Lounge after signing the bill to her Black Amex. Her diamond inlaid Vertu handphone had signaled that David’s car would be at the hotel entrance in five minutes. She was surprised as David was hardly ever 20 minutes late. He was always either on the dot or an hour late. Next to her in the backseat, David gave her a half smile, looking up from The Wall Street Journal which looked like it had been devoured from front to back. David reached into the right pocket of his navy blue jacket and fished out a cream-colored leather box with gold trimmings. Printed on the satin gold ribbon were the words ‘Flower Diamond’. He handed the jewel box to her as he had done many times through their nearly 10 years of marriage— Tiffany, Cartier and many other beautiful pieces, trinkets and significant jewels, without fanfare or necessary occasion. Flower Diamond was the newest jeweller of distinction in Singapore, having a shop in Ngee Ann City, just above Tiffany.

Samantha took the box. So this was the surprise he had spoken to her about earlier. Perhaps any other wife would have been delighted to receive the signature little cream-colored box but Sam was indifferent. To her, it was another one of the many trinkets to join her collection in her spacious walk-in dressing room. To her, it was just another piece of jewellery to wear a few times and then forget about, or worse—if larger and more valuable— to lock away in the specially built vault at the Chang’s residence. Building that ‘safe-room’ alone was a project in its own right. David had to fly specialists in from the US to ensure the walk-in vault for their things was well constructed, safeguarding the family’s fortune captured in title deeds, certificates and old papers. Her ‘toys’—as they both called her diamonds, emeralds and sapphires collected through the years—sat in one small corner of that vault, untouched and unused most of the time. Opening the box, it was a large diamond brooch, shaped like an exotic flower, with blazing emeralds and rich red rubies, surrounded by pave-cut lemon yellow diamonds on the petals—beautifully exquisite workmanship without a doubt. No one wears brooches much these days, she thought but she knew David expected her to attend tonight’s function in a qipao. American men still loved Chinese women garbed in traditional costumes. Most Americans carried the stereotype that Asian women were good little subdued wives at home. In a qipao, the Asian female mystique captured their imagination. Samantha knew that few Americans realized how liberated Asian women truly are, especially Singaporean women. Men

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all over the world sometimes carry such stereotypical fantasies about women, and women know how useful and lucrative working a man’s psyche can prove, whether one was a street walker, or Samantha Chang, wife of the major shareholder of one of the largest companies on the SGX. Sam smiled to herself as she remembered how the President and CEO of RRY Ltd was completely enthralled by her silks just last year, and when he asked for a dance with David’s nod, it was clear the US$10 millon deal was sealed. The fact that she was married was secondary. Samantha had the ability to charm. The qipao had the ability to seduce. It was a winning combination. “Nice brooch,” she said. “Thought you might like it,” David responded. “Yes. I’ll wear it tonight.” David reached his hand over and patted her knee. That was his way of saying he approved. David Chang was a man of few words with his wife. He was 20 years older and 40 years wiser, even for someone as worldly as Samantha, having seen the world through her father’s eyes. The tacit contract in their marriage was an important feature of their lives. No children as David had his own from his earlier marriage. His wife had died tragically. His children had attended boarding school just as Samantha did. All three children have now graduated and are working in his company. There was therefore no need for children from his second wife. Samantha herself had not wanted any children at that time. Having a child with a man she did not love and

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hardly knew was not a part of her game plan. Saving her father’s company, ensuring its future success, growing the family’s wealth, living as a princess for the rest of her life—those were her terms. And David—he wanted a woman by his side, someone respectable from a family of good name and fortune, which she supplied. There was no need for children. Making love was something else. It was just something that they did, Samantha thought to herself in her private moments. Was David good to her in bed? Undoubtedly, yes. He was very good in bed, and good to her in bed. Was this all she wanted? She convinced herself so and that sex with a man, even someone she loved, would always just be sex, and it really did not matter. What was love anyway? The rest of the marriage was working out perfectly, all according to plan. Reaching home, Samantha got ready for dinner, putting on her flawless make-up and slipping into the Shanghainese qipao that glided on—smooth, cool and sensual on her skin. It was strange how a traditional closedup high collared dress like that could feel so sensual. The qipao made a woman feel like a woman and a man … like a man, Samantha mused. Qipaos in Singapore by the Shanghainese masters could easily warrant $1,000 in workmanship alone. The cost of really good silk was something else altogether. Mrs Chang’s qipaos were masterpieces. No one would dare guess how much they cost. Her selected colours were stunning in the palettes of Renoir, Van Gogh and Monet. On her, the classic qipao was transformed into bold fashion statements and one that would seduce even

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the most non-visual of men, if such a creature did indeed exist, she had often thought, since men were generally so terribly and shallowly visual. Paying a few thousand dollars for a beautifully constructed qipao in the right silk was worth every cent. As she was stepping out of her walk-in wardrobe, her Vertu that was lying on her dressing table beeped. It was a message. Hi! Chee Pin here! May told me you guys met. Fantastic! How are you? Call me? Stay beautiful, gorgeous! Samantha smiled. Chee Pin. Her Chee Pin. Still her Chee Pin.

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3

She met Chee Pin three weeks later. Flight schedules, meetings, Adele, May, family gatherings, gastric flu—all sorts of things crept up on Chee Pin’s side. Sam began to wonder if he was just avoiding her. She was always busy but if she wanted to do something, she would cancel appointments, reschedule meetings and leave the house at five in the morning if necessary to make her day happen. She had always been just so determined a person that being the wife of a billionaire made no difference. Sam was disciplined in that way; she made things happen if and when she wanted it. She had replied to Chee Pin’s SMS with just three words. See you soon? He had then responded. Of course! My favourite gal wants to see me? I will be there! When? Where? Just friends of course! Good to catch up and see if you are still the same Sam.

With that message, the elusive meeting was scheduled and rescheduled several times. It took perseverance to adapt to Chee Pin’s many changes. Finally, three weeks later, there were no more cancellations and postponements. It was here, today. Sam smiled when she pulled on her $400 pair of Armani blue jeans and slipped into her Donna Karan white shirt. This was ‘the classic Chee Pin outfit’. She half laughed as she changed. Imelda brought out the Mary Jane red pumps and her tiny silver diamante handbag from the specialist Italian shop she goes to once a year to spend $50,000 on shoes and bags. Deciding to drive today, Sam grabbed the keys to her yellow Ferrari, put on her shoes, clasped her handbag and looked in the mirror. Samantha Chang looked like Sam Ng today. She looked like she did 10 years ago before she was married. She tossed her hair to give it a different look—a little wild, a little of the devil-may-care Bachelor Girl look and she has left Samantha Chang behind. She hopped into her car and drove off, speeding down her own driveway, through the autogates and was humming along the PanIsland-Expressway in no time. A yellow Ferrari draws even more attention than Samantha Chang. When she pulled up at the hotel, the power of the car surged and then came to a quiet purr. Sam loves to drive and she loves her fast cars. All eyes were on her when she emerged. She did not disappoint, unlike pudgy middle aged men when they appear from their beautiful sports cars. Looking like a supermodel, she slipped out of her car gracefully and with the same smoothness that her car had swung into the hotel’s

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driveway. The lobby bar was empty at that time as the Sheraton Hotel in Singapore is usually quiet before and after lunch, making it the ideal place to hold private meetings and meet old friends. Tucked in one corner of the lobby bar was a couch where hardly anybody sat on, probably because it was hidden from the public’s eye. The couch was located in an alcove under the grand stairs that swung down from the mezzanine floor above to the hotel lobby below. Directly beneath the stairs, next to the couch, was a tiny table where drinks could be served to two or three without anyone in the main lobby even realizing that table existed. Secluded, quiet and almost closeted—you could hold secret society meetings, cut strange business deals or meet an ex-lover there. Sam met Chee Pin there. Tanned from tennis, tall and carrying himself in that easy sportsman way, he sat looking very much at home on the couch. He was proverbially the boy next door, dressed in his old fashioned nicely worn white Ralph Lauren shirt from the last season, light blue 501 Levis and Timberland walking shoes. Chee Pin’s dark, near-black hair had a tendency to flop down over his forehead, giving him that endearing puppy-dog look. He still looked the same after 10 years, as she had expected. Her heart leapt. Neither hugged as one might have envisioned as the typical greeting between two long lost friends. Both had been replaying their last meeting and letters over and over again in their minds for the last three weeks. Both were nervous. Neither showed their nervousness, Sam for her training with Mamselle, and Chee Pin for his training in the RSAF.

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“You waited long?” “It’s alright. Not longer than in the past. Haha. You look fantastic but then, Sammie-angel, you always do. Almost exactly like I saw you last.” Sam smiled. The blue-jeans, white-shirt and redshoes garb was her way of remembering Chee Pin. So she did look exactly like when he saw her last. The effect was intended. The first drink came and went. They caught up with each other; how things were with everyone in their families, how things were with their jobs or in Samantha’s case, with her official roles and duties as the wife of David Chang. Then silence. Chee Pin looked at her. She looked away. Oh dear, she thought. “Why?” he asked. This was the moment she had been dreading the last three weeks—Chee Pin’s ‘why’. Why? Why did she walk away from this man 10 years ago? Why? Why didn’t she write? Why? Why didn’t she explain herself ? Why? Why didn’t she tell him how much he meant to her and why she chose the way she did? Why? Why Why WHY? Outwardly, Sam closed her eyes. If any of her present day friends caught sight of her now, they would not recognize this part of her. The perfect socialite was gone. She was not the laughing, smart, collected, tall, verytogether Samantha. Pain was on her face. She struggled in silence. She could not speak. “It was that bad? You can’t talk about it?”

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Sam nodded. Her eyes were still closed and her face turned away from Chee Pin. But he knew. He did not need to see her face to know her feelings. He could feel what she felt. This was his Samantha. He grew up with her. He was just two years older and was always her koko, the older brother figure in her life. His mother was her amah, the family’s caregiver. He was the naughty boy who came around to Uncle Sir’s house and helped his mother once a while. He had helped bathe the dogs, wash the cars when the chauffeur was ill, brought in the papers and sometimes helped to clean the swimming pool when Ah Seng the gardener was too drunk to remember that it was Sir’s swimming day and could have lost his job as a result. He was just always there, in and out of Ng’s mansion, mischievous as a child and later, growing more responsible as he understood his mother’s position in that grand household. Samantha’s mother had kept her watchful eye over the both of them but thought it safer for her daughter to have a young playmate at home than to hanker over going out to the malls like other young girls did. So she encouraged the friendship which blossomed naturally. When it appeared that Samantha and Chee Pin might develop feelings for each other, it was time for Sam to go to boarding school. Sam was 12 after the Singapore Primary School Leaving Examination. Samantha’s best friend from school, May, was invited over to say ‘good-bye’ to her, and the threesome had camped overnight in the huge garden, whilst being served hand and foot by maids bringing out mosquito repellants, hot drinks, chocolates, games, toys, stories and favorite board games.

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But love had already seeded in their young hearts. Samantha would write once a while from abroad, often silly letters at the beginning. When she returned home for the holidays, Chee Pin would come over and they would share their experiences over the last months when they were separated. As she turned 15, Samantha’s mother stopped those visits. She paid for Chee Pin to attend selfdevelopment and leadership camps each time Samantha returned home. The amah was so grateful to Mrs Pamela Ng for her generosity and kindness towards Chee Pin. When Sam turned 17, Mrs Ng sent her to various art and culture courses in Europe requiring that she stayed abroad. Her correspondence with Chee Pin began to dry up as they had less and less in common to share. It was when she was 19 that she saw Chee Pin again. He was 21 then. She had returned home from university that year, unannounced to her mother, all ready to take on the brave new world in Singapore with her new best friend, Sabrina. While reversing her car from the parking lot at Club X, she saw Chee Pin in her side-view mirror. He was with a group, a girl hanging on to his arm. “CHEE PIN!” she shouted with delight. He looked up shocked, recognizing the voice immediately. It had been four years since they were last together, rolling dice over a Monopoly game with Sam buying everything in sight. “SAM!” The group of young men and women looked at the two of them and wondered how this rich young thing knew born-and-bred heartlander Tan Chee Pin. The men

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wore crew cuts that instantly announced who they were to each other: NS men. Samantha looked at them and thought, National Service in Singapore brings strange bedfellows together in service of country and nation. The women looked like final year students from La Salle School of Arts; they were too adventurously dressed to be students from the National University of Singapore. Chee Pin ran towards Sam without a second thought for Desiree whom he had dated twice before, and who the entire group knew had huge hots for him. Chee Pin was about to enter Pilot Training School. What a catch! Sam said excitedly, “Hey, I nearly forgot about you. I haven’t seen your mother for years now. My mum said she has no idea where she went to or where you were. I couldn’t find either of you on the white pages. My goodness, how are you? You look great!” They hugged enthusiastically and chatted excitedly and rapidly like two old friends who had never been apart and were now sharing news of having won the lottery, only better. They quickly exchanged phone numbers that night and that holiday back in Singapore, Sam knew she loved Chee Pin. They spent every minute that Chee Pin could spare together. She loved his crew-cut, his new lifestyle, his new friends and—almost—his new philosophy for life, ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’. Samantha’s mother and father were too engrossed in their own lives to see how changed their daughter was that holiday. They were away most of the time. Sam had the entire mansion to herself, and she divided her time between preparing for her studies the following year and

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dreaming of a future with Chee Pin. She even wondered how it would feel to be married to an air force pilot. In her mind, her childhood friend has grown up and was soon to be a defender of the country. How romantic! She loved hearing his dreams of rising to the top of the RSAF. She felt that with his optimism and passion, he would make it, and she would one day be very proud to say that she was married to the Chief of the Republic of Singapore Air Force. She caught herself for a moment when she realized that the thought of marriage had somehow crept into her consciousness. She laughed nervously. It was a mad idea. Chee Pin and she were just very good friends. Oh yeah … From that holiday on, Samantha looked forward to her term breaks and flew home on the very first day of each break, much to the surprise of her mother. Chee Pin was different to her and always would be. When she was 20, sacrificing an all-girls-no-holdsbarred trip to Europe with her best friends, she did it. One seemingly random afternoon after dropping her off at her home, Chee Pin came back half an hour later with two armfuls of pink roses. It was the first time he gave her flowers. In the past, he had given her some red sago seeds he had found in the garden which he stuck onto a sheet of paper in the shape of a heart, or a specially shaped twig he picked up that looked like a pregnant man. A girl can receive flowers from every single date in town and put them aside, and she can receive that one single special daisy from that one special date who means everything to her. Chee Pin was that one special date. Twig or

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flowers did not matter. As long as it was from her favorite playmate, Tan Chee Pin. Pink roses, however, did make her feel extra ‘loved’, as extra ‘loved’ as roses have probably always made women feel from the beginning of time since creation. She was unexpectedly filled with song and music which she could only express by hugging Chee Pin tightly, more tightly than ever before. Then impulsively, she started to kiss him. From the ecstatic kiss of someone high on receiving pink roses, to the slower kiss of someone realizing she was kissing someone who was kissing her back, then to the gentle exploration between two persons in close embrace and into a deep passionate bare all kiss—that all happened in just one kiss, which remained etched in Sam’s mind as ‘that-fateful-pink-rose-kiss’. That summer holiday, back in hot and sunny Singapore, away from the celebrated great halls of learning in the schools and universities that her father sent her to, Sam gave her virginity to Chee Pin. One cannot imagine how a stunning young woman like Sam could have kept out of bed all those years abroad, but the truth was, Sam was just never interested in any boy or man long enough to get physical beyond the light kiss on the cheek. She was just never that interested in her dates, no matter how tall or handsome. In fact, she unkindly judged them to be boring, inane and insensitive, whether Singaporean, Malaysian, Thai, Hongkongese (haha), English, Northern Indian, German or Dutch. University was a great place to meet marriage material if one was that way inclined, Sam however was not that way inclined.

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When it came to Chee Pin, however, things were different. They had a history together, growing up. That afternoon, it did not feel strange to make love to him. It was as though they had always been love-making their entire lives till then through play and with laughter. Making love was therefore not a new act. It was just an extension of—an expression of—all they felt inside for each other all those years. She didn’t ask Chee Pin if she was his first. He however looked a tiny bit surprised that it was her first. He just kissed her gently when he realized it. She was happy that Chee Pin was her first. She would have it no other way, she thought even at that young age. That was 13 years ago. Sam was 33 today. “Hey, you went somewhere in your thought?” Chee Pin said. The pianist in the background of the Sheraton Hotel should be shot, he thought at the same time. Cacophonous banging on the piano killing every single musical piece he interpreted, how terribly he played. Sam opened her eyes, back from their joined past. Chee Pin’s concerned face was in front of hers, less than two feet away. “You were lost in thought for a while.” She nodded. She looked into his eyes and said, “I still love you.” Chee Pin recoiled momentarily. Why must Sam always give him such shocks? Why? It was now his turn to look away. Pilots however are different because of their training. Here was a situation in front of him. It did not matter if it was an emotional one or that it was personal to him. It was a situation, and no different from being under

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stress at work. He had to deal with it. Looking away too long will not help. Remembering their past will not help either. He quickly gathered his thoughts, cut through his emotions, looked straight at Sam and said, “We have both made our beds. We have to lie on them.” Without a word, Sam shook her head. “Don’t you love David?” Chee Pin asked, to Sam’s disbelief that he could even ask such a question. Didn’t he know her? “No. But I had to marry him. And he has been a very generous husband,” she replied, subconsciously flashing the five carat diamond ring he gave her for their eighth anniversary. “So you don’t love him and you married him?” Chee Pin probed. “Do you love May?” Chee Pin stopped, knowing that his next words could uncover a slippery path for the both of them that neither should venture. The cost would be too high. Outwardly he said, “May is a wonderful woman, and a great mother. Adele is the light of my life. Perhaps under different circumstances, I might have called her Samantha.” “Do you love May?” Sam pressed. Chee Pin looked away, paused and looked back. “Yes, I do. Not as I did you, but I do.” That was a safe answer for now, he thought. Samantha took a deep breath at the word ‘did’. He did love me, but he no longer does. Her emotions swelled up from within and a tear fell.

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“I had better go,” she said as she got up to leave. Chee Pin took the bill, walked to the counter, paid and left. Samantha had already left the Sheraton by the time he completed payment. She had walked off alone, picked up her Ferrari from the front of the hotel and drove off, accelerating down Scotts Road in the direction of Newton Circus towards the expressway. Unlike her usual composed self, Samantha’s heart and mind were in turmoil. Chee Pin was no longer hers.

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4

David hated these flights to China. Just too many, he thought. I would have preferred to stay home and go for that golf game that Nathan is organizing this weekend. What the heck! All this traveling just to get another project going. When will Benjamin be wise enough to take over the business so that I can rest? It has been years. Benjamin’s mother was so good at taking care of my needs then. This Ng’s daughter—Samantha, my wife—she is beautiful but she can’t take care of me. Never mind, at least she is good for our image together and she helps the business. I should not complain. Her father was a good man when he was alive. Fifty-three-year-old David unrolled his shirt sleeves and buttoned them. It was getting a bit chilly in the aircraft. He gulped some whisky to warm himself up, then shut his eyes. The ever attentive Singapore Airlines stewardess brought a blanket and covered Mr Chang gently, pressing the buttons on his seat panel to switch off his reading light, before retreating noiselessly to the galley. David Chang was a Preferred Passenger who traveled First and Business Class, and was known to be nononsense by the older stewardesses who have seen him

on more than a few flights. Even the flirts amongst them would not try their luck with Mr Chang. He had told a few of them in no uncertain terms that he was happily married to a special woman. Since Mr Chang was sometimes seen with the Managing Director of the airline, the SQ Girls paid him just that little bit more attention. After all, there was hardly more that any SQ Girl could do for a passenger than what they already did on every flight. This is an airline known for its exceptional level of service and in the open opinion of other lesser green-eyed airlines, SQ Girls often go ‘beyond duty’, a statement that is read quite nastily in some circles and most unfairly to the hardworking girls. The younger SQ girls, however, wondered who Mr Chang’s wife was and how he was that disciplined and strict a man. Knowing that he was rich made them envy the unknown Mrs Chang all the more. She was lucky, they thought, having experienced the welcomed and unwelcomed advances of men in First, Business and Economy Class travel. Arriving in Shanghai, David went straight to the office. Emilee took his coat and bag, then served him Chinese tea exactly how he liked it. Emilee had been his secretary for the last 10 years and understood her boss well. After his scheduled meeting, Emilee handed him a card. Welcome home. Pick me up at 8:00 pm from the Hyatt. I’ll be waiting. —Ling

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David got into the company’s car which took him to his apartment. Relaxing a little there, he stared out the window to the city. He has seen Shanghai grow through the years. How it transformed to host the APEC meeting. Such progress and success, and so rapidly too. Even now it was still transforming under their very eyes. Nothing stopped in Shanghai. It was the Paris of the East before and is still the Paris of the East today. The Hyatt with its world’s tallest tower stood at a distance from the hotel, testimony to the amazing economic power of China. He watched CNN for an hour, dozing off. When he awoke, he realized the time. To ensure that he would not be disturbed for the rest of the night, he called Samantha. “Sam, I’m already in Shanghai. The deal should go fine. How are you?” Listening to her talk about her day in three sentences or so, David flicked TV channels with the sound on mute. He knew his wife was as disinterested in her day as she was in telling him about it. It was just the courtesy of a 10 year marriage to encourage niceties of exchange without which two persons may as well be living completely separate lives. David left for the Hyatt soon after. Turning the car into the driveway, he saw Ling Ling. She’s no longer young, was his first thought, but she is still as beautiful as the first day I met her, was his next. Ling Ling got into the rare BMW 7-series in China, glad that her ‘husband’ was back in town. She spoke fluent English for a Shanghainese. In fact, Ling Ling spoke fluent French as well. She worked at the Shanghai

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City Government Office, holding a coveted position that most of her male colleagues were vying for. They went for a quiet dinner at David’s favorite restaurant. Traveling around in Shanghai with Ling Ling, no one knew him. They knew her but then she would always introduce him as a Singaporean businessman here to invest in Shanghai. If there were rumors, it did not matter. He was heavily invested into Shanghai. Ling Ling had been a useful ally all those years. Shanghai, like London and New York, is a huge city. Few would recognize David Chang in these cities, unlike in Singapore, so David could be himself there. Alone in the crowd, Ling Ling held his hands and leaned against him as they walked through the party-makers at Xin Tian Di, where stars and starlets met the rich and the famous, and aspiring tartlets met male hotties and other-pretendwannabes. David liked Ling Ling’s open affection. She made him feel that he protected her despite her powerful position in the government. She was small, light on her feet and had a musical quality to her voice. She was also the mother of his 10year-old daughter here in Shanghai. Pei Pei was delightful at that age and gave him an autumn chance at parenting. Ling kept Pei Pei in her mother’s home so few knew about her existence. And if they did, it hardly mattered. The Shanghainese are pragmatic people with more modern views than most people give them credit for. The next morning, David returned to his Shanghai office. Ling Ling was good company the night before. He left some instructions for Emilee and completed his meetings early. Emilee got his luggage ready for him.

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David took the evening flight back to Singapore, contented that he has seen Pei Pei in school that morning and that she was doing well. Ling Ling was a good woman. She understood his circumstances and had not once complained about Samantha. She only asked that he look after Pei Pei and provide for her, now that she was in her 40s too. To both of these requests, David was more than happy to comply. If things were different, he might have married Ling Ling instead 10 years ago. But he could not. His marriage to Samantha was more important. So much more was at stake than his young illegitimate child with this deceptively diminutive but powerful woman from Shanghai.

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5

May saw Chee Pin return from the Sheraton. He looked deep in thought. Perhaps it was another difficult day, she thought. She got the honey out from the fridge and made him a chilled glass. This should soothe his nerves, she thought. Chee Pin thanked her and went straight into his study room. May thought it was to work. Presently she heard music. Strains of old songs. When she peeked her head into the room, she saw Chee Pin asleep on the daybed. Oh dear, she thought. What about dinner? May put away the dinner she had prepared. It was a Thai green curry which was Chee Pin’s favorite, sambal belacan, fried kangkung and grilled prawns. Chee Pin loves prawns and May took care to prepare prawn dishes twice every week in different styles. May was a good wife. She had only just always wanted to be a very good wife.

6

It was 1:00 am. Chee Pin was awake in his room. He had been awake for the last two hours, staring at the ceiling, listening to sounds of the night coming through the open window. That was the problem with living high off the ground. People believed that the noise would get to you if you lived on the lower floors. They were wrong. The higher floors, especially those between the seventh and 11th, suffer from traveling sound waves unblocked by trees and lower buildings. You hear the highway and the rumble of cars as they travel along, including each and every time they go over those heat expansion separators on the highways. Budd-thumd, budd-thumdd the tires would go. Every night without fail, just sounds of the night coming through the flat. Somewhere far a siren went off. Chee Pin smiled. Some idiot would always leave his theft alarm on and forget that it existed. Why are people so incredibly forgetful, or are they just plain lazy? Samantha was on his mind. She was his princess in so many ways. He was the archetypal hero in the Chinese fairy tale—the poor gardener’s son who grew up to become a scholar but who was still not good enough for

the Emperor. She was the princess who was unattainable, so fine and fair, and who played court to a multitude of suitors but preferred him for his honesty and simple love. No avarice. No deceit. No games. In his study alone, Chee Pin keyed a message into his phone. I want to see you again. SOON He hesitated and then pressed the ‘Send’ button. The reply came. I don’t think it is a good idea. Samantha, he thought. Samantha! Chee Pin responded. Don’t refuse me. I need to see you soon. Please. Nothing. Silence. Samantha. His Samantha. Why now? Why NOW? His eye caught the photo of Adele on his desk and he smiled at her impish face. What was he feeling? He was unsure. Chee Pin hung his head, stared hard at the homogeneous tiles of the floor and shook his head. May was his wife. He had vowed to protect and love her. He had promised his mother that he would be a good husband to this dear woman who rescued him from depression after Samantha dumped him without any explanation. Only a letter with three words worth noting:

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20 May 1998 Chee Pin, I’m getting married. Someone I met. Sorry. I’ve changed. Samantha He remembered how fear had gripped his heart when he saw those words. But fear soon turned into anger, and anger into frustration and a sense of helplessness. ‘I’ve changed’ are the most cruel words in ending any relationship. They give no closure and opened a multitude of questions. His sense of helplessness soon turned into despair as he began sinking into the dark pit of depression. He had been depressed for months, and no one could help. His mother had begun to fear for his health, and all the more so as he was then a cadet pilot, taking to the skies with new maneuvers each time. May then slipped back into his life. He could not remember exactly when or how. It was so unannounced and uncelebrated. One day, he looked up from watching television and she was there, sitting across from him, watching the show with him. He must have known she was there. After all, someone must have let her into his mother’s flat. Why did he not realize she was there? He looked at her. She was unaware that he was finally awakening from months of mad thoughts and an autoresponse to life by reflex. With short hair and simple clothes, May looked like the girl next door. She hardly used make-up, her fair skin

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showed freckles on her cheek that were very becoming. Her face dimpled up each time she spoke or laughed. She was never sexy, but always bubbly; May was just full of life. Here she was, in front of him, laughing at another episode of Mr Bean. It was the one where Mr Bean was sitting for an examination with a cup full of pencils which he had sharpened ever so carefully in front of his mature classmates focused elsewhere in the rented church hall. Chee Pin looked at May a long time before she realized that he was looking. Then, catching her eye, he said, “You’re here.” Oblivious, May said, “Mr Bean is so funny. Look, see how ridiculous he is. He is now going to bring out his alarm clock. See see. Now he puts that on the table. Oh my goodness, see how absurd this gets. How can anyone be so silly?” May was laughing non-stop at Rowan Atkinson’s rubber face. It seemed easy to make May laugh. She was just such a happy person, Chee Pin thought to himself. He reached out and touched her lower arm. She turned around, a bit startled. All that time, seated together watching comedies, he had never touched her. Most times, they sat until it was about 10:00 pm and she would wish him goodnight, see herself out and go home. Chee Pin’s mother would have gone to bed by then. Three months passed this way. At first, it was on his mother’s request but when she saw how gone her old friend was, she felt that she had to help. She was worried that his depression might cost him his life while flying. Each night, she found something

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new to talk to him about, and while he seemed intent to be left alone to his own thoughts, at least he responded in some mono- or duo-syllabic manner … sometimes. Seated together on the sofa, they had watched all the Mr Bean episodes and all the new movies released on DVDs. Some nights, she even brought old reruns of Get Smart that was taped by her sister in Australia. Anything to keep Chee Pin’s mind off his problems and the breakup with Samantha. He seemed to laugh at the comic mishaps on these shows. May had not realized that laughter was an autoresponse for him until he touched her that night. He was becoming aware again. “Thanks,” he said. “Huh? For what?” May responded. “Thanks for being here. I think you were here all these months. I just never realized it. I just never realized it,” Chee Pin said a bit hesitatingly, shaking his head slightly. “Oh,” May said. She looked at him. He looked different. The glazed look was gone, and in its place, deep anguish. “Oh,” she repeated. She stroked his hand gently, as a mother might have stroked the hand of a son with tenderness and love. “It’s alright. You are here. That’s what counts.” Yes, May was there for him all those months, and had been there for him all these years. May saw him through the toughest days and nights when he sat for those exams and tests in the air force. She was there when he suffered under his Reporting Officer when the interpersonal chemistry between them

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was so bad that he, although an officer, was made to do the most menial of tasks. She was there when he was nearly asked to leave the squadron although he was a very good pilot, all because he had a run-in with one of the Majors. She guided, upheld, and supported him through the events in his life, one after another. Now he was finally clear of those miserable events. His RO had been transferred to another squadron as a matter of rotation and he, Captain Tan Chee Pin was now being recognized at the airbase as someone with leadership abilities. His new RO was fairer in his assessment and preferred thinking subordinates, and besides, they were both from St. Andrews Secondary School. Being from the same school made life so much easier; the two men understood each other without needing to say much. That fostered a much better relationship that supported his promotion. Marrying May was something he had had to do. It was the next natural step. After the months she spent looking after him that way, he had to take her out to thank her. He found in her a warmth and understanding that he had not found in any of his past girlfriends. Not even Samantha had that level of warmth or understanding. After all, if she did, how could she have left him that way without explanation. Anyone who leaves another without giving closure is heartless, Chee Pin thought. Even bad fights are preferable to letters with words like ‘I’ve changed’. After all, everyone changes, constantly and all the time. Didn’t we read somewhere that every cell in our body is completely replaced every seven years. Why, we are

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not even the same person every seven years. What can anyone mean, ‘I’ve changed’? Nothing. Just a rich and selfish spoilt-brat thinking only of herself. And there he was thinking that she had saved herself for him all those years they were apart in their teens. Chee Pin knew that with May he had found balance. They just did things together. Ordinary things. Like going to movies. Eating Roti Prata at Jalan Kayu every other weekend, and once in the middle of the night just to test the freshness, as May suggested. They went swimming, rollerblading and even volunteered at the SPCA a few times. They just did things together. There is comfort in the ‘doing of things’ together. For May initially, it was her careful planning to get Chee Pin out of his depression and into doing things and exercise to raise Chee Pin’s ‘happy hormone’ level since activity and exercise did that naturally. For Chee Pin, he just tagged along until he was ready and decided to take over the planning of their outings. Then they added photography, sailing, kite-flying and mountain-biking. May was not good at physical sports but she tried. For Chee Pin’s sake, she tried. So what was Chee Pin thinking of ? He and May were married now for seven years. Adele was already four. What am I thinking of ? Chee Pin caught himself. I am mad. This SMS. This torture. Same thing. Repeating itself. Stop this. It is crazy. May was there for me. May! My May. Samantha wasn’t. She wasn’t. What am I doing, SMSing another woman at this time of the night? Jeopardizing my current happiness. I am mad! Forget it. I have a family.

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Ma told me to take care of May, and now there is Adele. No woman is worth Adele’s pain. No one is worth that. No one. His strong emotions about Sam passed, Chee Pin felt hungry. He got up and started out the door, intending to heat some food in the microwave. Maybe May cooked prawns tonight again. I feel so bad now. I missed dinner. She must be disappointed. She takes such care to cook those prawns. I wonder what she cooked tonight. Assam? Yummmmm … Deeet Deeeeeet The phone went off. It was an SMS. Ok. See you again soon. I can’t stop thinking about you too. Luv, Sam.

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7

Adele awoke up bright and early. She was excited. It was school-day. Daddy sends her to school and she missed Daddy last night. Mummy had said for him not to be disturbed. Turning the doorknob gently, she sneaked into the room. Daddy fell asleep in his ‘outside’ clothes. He was still wearing that white cotton shirt with that funny picture on one side, the one with a man on horseback raising a big stick about to hit a ball or something. What did they call it ‘Polo’? Adele saw nothing that resembled the Polo sweets that Mummy sometimes bought. “Daddy, wake up. It’s time for school.” Chee Pin grunted. He opened his reluctant eye-lids. Looked at his daughter. Adele. His dearest sweetest Adele. His dearest sweetest daughter. Where is Samantha? Where are Sam’s sweet lips? Then he was awake. He realized his thought. Samantha! Samantha’s lips? What was he thinking! This is his daughter. His daughter with MAY! Get up you wretched man! How dare you think such thoughts. Didn’t they teach you anything at Sunday School? Just thinking it is committing adultery! FOOL! You don’t have to do it!

Wretched man! Wake up! This is your daughter talking to you. Wake up. Kick yourself! SOLDIER! “Daddy will come out shortly, sweetheart. Please tell Mummy that I need a strong cup of coffee this morning.” “Okay, Daddy,” Adele chirped and was out the door. She bounced to Mummy to tell her that Daddy smells awful and he probably forgot to brush his teeth last night again, and she will never do that as she was a good girl. And oh yes, that Daddy wanted a strong cup of coffee, so please Mummy, may I spoon the coffee for Daddy this morning? Chee Pin emerged from his study room. Walked over to May. Kissed her on the cheek. Put an arm around her. Squeezed her shoulder. Smiled at Adele. Reached out for his coffee. Took a gulp. “I’d better go clean up. I must look a mess.” May smiled. She is used to her ‘mess-ed’ husband. He looks a mess every few weeks when the flights are tough. But yesterday, he was not in uniform, and had returned home wearing his Polo shirt instead of his usual flight suit. Unusual, she thought for a moment. Where was his flightsuit? The microwave was beeping and the thought left her, as she focused on getting the hot lasagna to the table. Gee, we are a weird family, we even eat lasagna in the mornings, she thought. Chee Pin took Adele to school in his Saab. He drives well. All pilots drive well and they love their cars. The Saab was nothing compared to the freedom of the aircraft but it was the closest feeling one could get to a powerful, well-engineered machine under the pilot’s seat and in

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his control. He loves the feeling he gets driving with his friends late at night along the Central Expressway. Somehow all his pilot friends know intuitively when to shift their cars into formation without prior preagreement. It is such a good feeling to take their cars down the expressway in tight lock-step. And it develops a great spirit of camaraderie with his colleagues, each with a shared mission and purpose to protect the Singapore skies, but each with the personal passion to be the best pilot in the RSAF. Dropping off Adele, he turned in the direction of work. Adele’s pre-school was on the way to the airbase. He put on some music to occupy his mind now that Adele’s chatter was gone from the car. The station was playing Perry Como’s song. And I love you so, the people asked me how, how I lived till now, I tell them I don’t know. I guess they understand how lonely life can be, how life began again, the day you took my hand … That was their song, his and Samantha’s. This same song was on the radio that afternoon he made love to Samantha for the first time in her room, all her soft-toys on the floor and when he felt her soft body beneath his. He could remember how vulnerable she felt, how fair, how almost white her skin was. Her hair smelling of fresh flowers, her breath so very sweet, her mouth … Chee Pin was lost in his memory of Sam, intoxicated.

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Sam possessed his soul like no woman could or have. Not May. Not any of his past girlfriends. No one. Sam possessed him. He remembered how he felt when he was in her. She had let out a small cry. He then realized that it was her first time. He immediately felt amazingly protective over her. She was his Sam. She had saved herself for him all those years. All those English boys never did get to her, did they? And he had been afraid of losing her to them, to their cleverness, to their wit and charm. He was just the amah’s son, and here she was, she was the princess of his life and she had saved herself for him. He loved her more at that moment than he had ever loved anyone else before. Yes, he had had other women. Some of them were more exciting that Sam, more colorful. All of them were older. Most of them were just into sex for fun. He was tired of those women. He had followed his friends around and had felt the futility of the games they played, but the sex was good and he was back then, just a boy becoming a man. That afternoon, he felt privileged, something he did not feel with any other woman. That afternoon, Sam had given him something, and that made him feel special which he had never felt with the others. Sam was his. And more importantly, he knew he was hers. Chee Pin drove into the airbase. Tabik the guard on duty. Accelerated his Saab up the slope and slowed it down to the mandatory speed limit. Turning into the squadron carpark instinctively by now, he stopped the car at exactly the right moment when the car was perfectly aligned and centered in the lot. He cut the engine.

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He picked up his handphone. Stared at the Sony Ericsson. Hesitated. His hands were cold. His heart was beating wildly. He SMSed. See you tonight. I can’t live without you, darling. The reply came instantly. Ok. Can’t talk now. Same place. Can’t wait. Till then, Yours 4ever.

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8

It was 1998. Mr Ng stared at the computer screen. What it said shook him. The CEO of his company had just e-mailed him that the banks would pursue matters if the debt was not made good in three months’ time. A total of US$1 billion was being called as a result of the fallen Rupiah and property prices. His company had borrowed US$3 billion to purchase vast tracts of land and prime developments in Indonesia, China, Malaysia and Hong Kong. The fallen Rupiah and real estate prices meant that the underlying asset had now fallen to below US$2 billion. The banks wanted him to make good the US$1 billion differential in three months. Otherwise, they will begin asset stripping. Worse, they held his personal properties as collaterals. It was crazy times, and lenders take desperate measures to recover debt to prevent further losses. This is crazy. Mahatir is right. That George Soros is to be blamed. These hedge fund managers should all be killed. Scumbags without a shred of conscience! He ran a good company, one of the best. They were not listed directly; they did not need to be. Their subsidiaries were listed on various exchanges. The entire regional network of businesses at the end was a family business to him and it had grown from year to year, adding rubber

estates, rubber tyres, food packaging, food distribution, office space management, women clothes and their latest acquisition, prime office development. Mr Ng was a powerful man. He looked it and walked it. He reflected, my company, Pewajaran was not built in a day but over two generations. Father gave it to me and he was only able to build it, thanks to him being a good friend of the Old Man when they were both fighting the war for independence. If not for that lucky break of being in the same platoon, the Old Man would not have rewarded Father with those special favors and where would they be today? That Old Man, say what you will, he was loyal to those who were loyal to him. It was the Indonesian way. Mahatir was right, he thought again. Someone should kill those !@#$%&* on Wall Street. They are worse than murderers. They are raping and killing our companies! Those unconscionable bastards. He called for his car. He needed to see Mei Ling tonight. Never mind his wife. He had to see Mei Ling tonight. He needed peace and her soft understanding. At Mei Ling’s apartment at The Four Seasons, he unwound the tensions of the afternoon. His mistress always knew exactly what to do. She brought out the tea, sat next to him and just stroked him. He was lost in thought, more concerned about that e-mail, the firm letter from the bank and his CEO’s reports, than whatever pleasures this woman could give him that night. Mei Ling knew that he was not there with her that night. It did not matter, she thought. It was just another business problem. It will pass. She just needs to play her

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role tonight. Take care of him. It is her opportunity to show him why he needed her. These calamities, the more there are, the more I get to show him that I am caring, demure, loving, serving, in tune with his needs and never ever demanding. Mr Ng sat. CNN was blasting on the TV. The drop in value of the Rupiah was being analyzed. The share market drop was highlighted. As if it mattered, Mr Ng hrrrmmpphed. Hindsight. Everyone has hindsight. Show me a man with foresight and I will show you the real mastermind, the shifu. Hindsight never mattered if one was already caught, already stuck in the shit, in the hole, in the freaking mess, Mr Ng thought. He has to figure out how to dig himself out of this mess now. His family’s honor was at stake. Gently, Mei Ling rubbed the temples of his forehead with aromatic oil. It was soothing. This darn woman, she always knows what to do to calm me down. Why can’t Pamela be more like this? Pamela would only nag and fret. Why can’t she just sit still and wait for me to calm down? Why can’t Pamela soothe my nerves and rub oil on my head? Damn Pamela. Damn Soros. Damn his CEO. Bah … Mr Ng was in a foul mood that night, but Mei Ling was patient as she was gentle. So very very gentle. Whatever the mood and whoever the man, a very patient and attractive woman can probably reach him if she persists and if he was already in some relationship with her. Ng was no different. Eventually, he succumbed. His bad mood subsided.

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Mei Ling is very pretty tonight, he thought. She still looks young at 30. Even younger than his own daughter sometimes. She made him feel young, powerful, alive … he is going to have her tonight. Tomorrow, an answer will come. Tomorrow, I will feel great again and an answer will come. He reached out, grabbed her and drew her close to him. I can still do it, he thought to himself. Even at my age. Other men would be long gone. He felt smug. He could still do it and satisfy his young mistress. He did not need tonics or Viagra. Tonight the company can wait. What difference would it make. He reached under her blouse and undid her bra in a well practiced move. Mei Ling was his willing toy. She had always been his willing toy.

The next morning, Mr Ng sat down to breakfast with Mei Ling who had gotten up much earlier to cook his favorite chicken congee with bits of spring onion and parsley sprinkled on top. She had asked the chauffeur to buy youtiao, or Chinese dough fritters, from Tiong Bahru market. And here she was, cutting the youtiao up into small ringlets using the kitchen scissors. Ng grunted his thanks to her. Mei Ling said quietly, “Ng dear, you are stressed. Is it the loan? Are they calling for it?” It never ceases to amaze Mr Ng how Mei Ling knew these things, but then he would remember that this

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woman was once his corporate secretary. It was he who proposed to keep this liaison with her. She was smart, this Mei Ling. She made him sign over The Four Seasons apartment to her name with two lawyers as witnesses to prevent future dispute. She then made him sign a deed of arrangement to maintain her should they break up. The arrangement paid her three times her last drawn pay with an annual increment of 15 per cent up to she was 65. It probably was not a valid agreement since her services could not be named but the way it was drawn up made it unnecessary for him to fight it should he ever be finished with her. This morning, somehow she knew about the loan and the issues at his doorstep. He nodded. “It’s just shitty luck!” Mei Ling nodded. She then said, “You need to find someone to partner, use Samantha in some arrangement with that person and then when the time is right, get Samantha to leave him and bring the family’s fortune back intact.” Ng looked at his mistress with new eyes. What is she thinking of ? What arrangement? How will it work? “You go off now, dear. Let me think a bit more. I’ll come over at lunch and we can talk more then. I heard that David Chang is in a bit of a spot himself these days, so maybe you can do business with him this time. Let me ask my friends what they think.” Ng knew who her few friends were. They were mistresses to other men like himself. They never disclosed who kept them, but it was obvious they were kept from the monthly expense bill they must chalk up

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with designer clothes, cars, make-up, hair-dos and even electronic gadgets. Somehow these few women gravitated towards each other at the golf club. Why is it that the wives never found out that their husbands’ mistresses were all members at the other golf club whilst family memberships were held with the more prestigious club in Singapore? And how is it that members of the other clubs never guessed at this open secret, that they would ask these many attractive single women who and where their husbands were? Sometimes, people are just so blind. They see what they want to see. And most times, people just can’t see. Shaking his head and then kissing Mei Ling on her forehead, he left for work. Encik Yusof was waiting for him patiently. His driver knew Ng’s weaknesses and his passions. He said nothing. Absolutely nothing. For that, a large angpow of $1,000 was given to him every Chinese New Year. A thousand dollars is a nice bonus for a driver. Mr Ng felt a bit lighter today as he left than he did yesterday when he arrived at Mei Ling’s.

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9

Mrs Pamela Ng was very uneasy. Her husband had come home early that night. She was on her way out to her dancing lessons. Marcos was waiting for her at the studio. Dear Marcos, tall, curly hair, speaking with his distinct Filipino accent, trying to look cosmopolitan, wearing the last silk shirt she bought him from Heathrow, that Italian silver bracelet she picked up from Milan two years ago and his tight, tight, oh so tight, pants. Dear Marcos, he made her feel young and desirable. Pamela thought of his small round buttocks and laughed to herself. It was quite nice to pat his buttocks in public unashamedly. He seemed to delight in it and had this fake squeal that was so hiau, so affected. It was just a game and she felt entertained. Such a delightful man. The $2,000 she paid him to give her preference was worth it. After all, her salon visits did not make her feel half as good or as young as Marcos did. And those salon visits cost just as much, if not more! She now looked at her husband seated across from her at the dining table. It was a heavy rosewood table that they both had bought in their younger days when they were still in love. Ah, love. Those were the days. Ng once loved her and worshipped the ground she stood on. She

too loved Ng. Well yes, she did, then. Why not? He was ambitious, hardworking, persistent ... but always right. She could not stand that. How can anyone be always right? It was ridiculous if you think about it. But her husband was always right, even when he was wrong. Gawd. As the wife, after three years of living with Mr Always-Right, the marriage went terribly wrong. She could not stand his dogmatic manners but realized that there was more in the marriage for her than out, so she stayed. Through the years, Ng and Pamela formed an unspoken truce—he did his thing and she did hers. Marcos came after a string of young men and great lovers. All very hush-hush and all of them, except for Marcos, were done outside Singapore. She kept a lovely little apartment in Bangkok on Sukhumvit Road, paid for by Ng. He knew exactly what was going on but shut both eyes to her ‘adventures’. In public they jest about her need to visit the temples in Bangkok monthly to meditate. In blunt reality, it is too bothersome to feel jealous or to contemplate divorce. In time, both will be old and all this will mean nothing. They will probably live in two different countries and find their own happiness that way. There was enough money to do that without needing to break up the family wealth for some ideology that Hollywood calls ‘love’. That Hollywood love thing is utter nonsense. Love? Love is when you have lots in the bank and you can do what you want in life without a thought of whether there will be enough for tomorrow. That is love. That is

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living. Hollywood knows nothing about love. Penniless writers in some attic with romantic idealism! Let them starve! Hah! Pamela was quite comical, shaking her tiny body each time she went through this soliloquy in her own head. Hah! Seated across her, Ng was deep in thought but knew he had to speak to his wife fast. He preferred minimal interaction with Pamela. But this time, it concerned the two things he cared about the most—his company and Samantha. He needed Pamela’s help to talk to Samantha as a mother to her daughter. “It’s time Samantha got married,” he said. Pamela nodded. There was no need to question or object. It did not matter if this was the first time the word marriage had left his lips with regards to his precious Samantha. Nor did it matter if she was about to jump up and down that something like this would crop up on a Tuesday evening just when it was time to go dancing. Ng always got around to the whys soon enough, and even then, there was no need for her to object. Ng signed the cheques that paid for their lifestyles and he was very generous with his family. Being an agreeing partner was her role in the marriage, for which she got nearly unlimited freedom and spending power. Pamela was thinking of Marcos’ lips now. She might be in her late 40s, but Pamela was thinking of Marcos’ lips. Nice lips. Hmm. Externally, she nodded again to whatever Ng was saying. “With this wretched environment and the Rupiah falling the way it did. If we don’t do something, we are gone,” Ng said.

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At this, Pamela sat up. She stopped fiddling with the tassle of her new lilac chiffon dress and wondered to herself. Gone. Gone? What do you mean gone? “We will be financially ruined if we do not solve it. I want Samantha married.” Pamela was puzzled. She was the wife of Ng FF but she was not interested in the business. She left these things to Ng to take care of while she concerned herself with being the super rich socialite, attending charities, kissing sweaty children, blessing smelly old folks in the homes, cutting ribbons when the time called for it, and wearing huge diamonds to big balls. “You want Samantha married? Married to who? Why? What do you want me to tell her?” “David Chang. He is a good businessman. His company is the fastest growing property developer chain in Singapore. They just finished that project on Orchard Road. And he is a good man.” By ‘good’, Pamela knew that Ng was saying that David’s word was iron. By ‘good’, Ng was praising David as an honorable man. By ‘good’, Pamela also knew that Ng meant ‘older, significantly older’. Pamela had already heard of David Chang. Few have not. He was in the papers every now and then. She knew that the man had the money and ability to do great things. Being married to Ng and being somewhat soul mates, though not lovers, meant that she knew her husband despite his paucity of words. “Tell me more,” she said. So Ng spent half an hour with Pamela, longer than he had for the last three years in any single session. He explained that Pewajaran was now

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in a serious situation with the US$1 billion overhang. The banks were merciless and they wanted clear indication of how the billion would be made good. The crisis was bad. The news carried reports of home owners in Hong Kong who turned up at the banks to hand in the keys to their flats because values had dropped so much that it was not worth their while to service the loans and these owners no longer cared if the banks sued. It was just that bad. In Thailand, projects were being discontinued and building construction had come to a stand still. Reinforced concrete structures were suddenly left looking monstrous and ugly. There was a near complete, ghostly absence of piling sounds and movement of heavy machinery. Pamela already knew these things. Marcos updated her on the news. People think that these personal dancing instructors were brainless human beings who were just good on their feet and in bed. Well, they are mistaken. Personal dancing instructors in Singapore were very often college graduates with fantastic rhythm and charm. It was just easier to make $8,000 dancing their way into women’s hearts than to struggle in a low paying job at some call centre in Manila, dealing with frustrated inept women calling to complain that their microwaves had stopped working because they forgot to turn the machines off overnight, or to say they had forgotten the password to their high-tech handphones which they had miskeyed by accident. Marcos was paid to entertain her, sure. But to keep her entertained, Marcos had to do more than be good on his feet. Marcos found his specialty by reading the news and updating her so she was not completely oblivious

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to the ins and outs of her husband’s business. He also hoped that she would speak to Ng about him soon one day, and that he, Marcos, might be able to take up a job at Pewajaran as a corporate analyst. Pamela knew Marcos wanted progression from his station in life, and dangled that hope shamelessly even as he waltzed her through the Blue Danube the 100th time as though she was lighter than wind when reality was that she was in her late 40s and nothing could be further from the truth. Ng continued recalling his conversation with David Chang. He said he had proposed to David that they merge the two companies. That way, the banks would stay off hounding Ng for a period of time, giving the company time to recover from the currency blow and for Ng to sell assets at better prices than during a firesale. The security in the deal for the Ngs was going to be Samantha.

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10

David Chang was a shrewd man. He was never kind for nothing. It made sense this deal. Totally. His own company had some difficulties but it was robust. They were able to expand at a time when others were down. He knew Ng. He knew Pewajaran was a good company that had just fallen into bad times. Pewajaran’s portfolio of businesses wasn’t bad at all—stable, with good income streams in the best and worst of times. It was too bad that Ng was not a financial wizard and that these new financial instruments confused him. He had just bought the wrong financial advice. Right business, wrong financial engineering. David had almost smiled. Ng was 15 years older. David was 43. His own children, graduating soon from Harvard and MIT were coming home in a few years’ time. Through them, he kept abreast of technology and innovation. His children had good genes. He had been a very young father, having gotten married extremely early in life for a man. On the basis of the deal and his self-confidence, David said ‘yes’ to Ng. It could be done. He should be able to pull the enlarged company through. Ng then proposed something surprising to him.

“Now that we are going to be partners, I need a favor. You know that this business was built by my father. It was just a few trucks when he handed it to me, and sure there were a few timber factories, but today, we are the largest tyre manufacturer in Southeast Asia. The proposed plant in China will do well. We hold the largest franchise for tyres and the only damn problem are these bloody environmentalists and their championing that tyres are bad for the environment since natural rubber lasts nearly forever.” David nodded. Ng had a turn in his voice and he was wondering where this older man was going in his conversation now that he had agreed to the merger. Ng then said, “I cannot lose the company. You are a good man. I see your deals. I like them. We have never done business together but you have a good reputation and I like that.” David nodded again. “I want you to marry my daughter.” David sat up. It clicked. It all clicked. David Chang was not David Chang for nothing. He was completely self-made. He built Chang Empire from nothing. He pushed himself through those early days in precision engineering, working long hours, and then signed himself up for programs at Harvard so that he could get those few initials after his name and the right networks. Singapore can be snobbish, you could not talk to these government people without a few right names dropped at the right time. There were the rich elite and the intellectual elite. He wanted to be both. Both always worked better than

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to be just rich, although between being rich and being smart, being rich works better in Singapore than being smart, like anywhere else in the world. He laughed to himself how the politicians often struggled so hard to be heard but in the end, it was money that called the shots when things needed to get done. Singapore was clean. No doubt. Absolutely. Totally. White as snow. Nothing can be sold by any form of under-table means or suggestion of unholy money. To David, none of that was necessary anyway, for when you sign cheques for large projects and huge investments, governments listen and they will move obstacles to make things happen for you. And in Singapore, this was easier and not harder than other countries where rules were less transparent. Here, if you dream big enough and have the cash to back those dreams, you can be a self-made person. The system works here. And it works well, government-linked companies or whatever, never mind them. Make them work with you or for you. Money always talks. Here, Ng was proposing giving him his prized asset, his daughter. David vaguely remembers that sweet young girl attending functions, dressed in her haute couture gowns, beautifully conditioned hair and very high stilettos. She always drew attention. Pretty thing. Like a beautiful white orchid or a delicate white lily. Always fair. Faintest scent to intrigue and not overbear. Cultured and together, even when she laughed merrily in her girlish way showing rows of tiny pearl-like teeth. David had seen her at functions from afar. But she was not someone he felt he should make a move on were

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he even in her age group, and he would have advised his close friends the same. That sweet young thing was Ng’s treasure and businessmen always knew better than to create rivals that way. Samantha Ng had to be the serious thing or nothing. Not a fling. Flings with women like Samantha can attract repercussions. Fathers never forget or forgive. Ng would have come after him or anyone if they took Samantha Ng without his permission. And he, David, was not ready to re-marry. Marriage is so difficult. He valued his freedom after Frieda, his wife, died after a very long and horrible fight with cancer. Besides, David had Ling Ling. Ling Ling was a good companion through those months where his daily battle was for his company and for his wife’s life. He loved Frieda, unusually so for a big man of the world, who had traveled extensively and enjoyed life to the fullest. He had never wanted any other woman while Frieda lived. Frieda was his childhood love. He did not want to go through another loss like Frieda again if he could help it. It is just so difficult. Had it not been for Ling Ling, he is not sure how and whether he could have recovered from losing Frieda. He had felt guilty that he could not reciprocate Ling Ling’s feelings but she seemed to understand. David understood Ng very well. Marrying Samantha would meant that everything David owned would automatically be shared with Samantha in a divorce and only in death could he, David, will it otherwise to his own children. It was the oldest game in business. Marriages secure understanding, partnerships and liaisons. They welded families and family wealth together.

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He was not surprised that Ng offered this. He only wondered what would have happened had Samantha been born a boy. Ng would have had nothing to offer, except perhaps to find someone with a daughter since women in money were fewer than men. This was not a bad plan. It was an old game, almost medieval and dating from the day property rights first entered the understanding of men. Marriages kept family fortunes together through generations and it is still done in certain parts of Europe and India till today. What has ‘love’ got to do with anything? To David, a driven, self-made man who still loved his childhood sweetheart by choice though she was now long dead, this idea however felt alien. But he understood its intention and appreciated it for its tradition. It was the most sensible thing to do given the circumstances. He wondered if he might have forced his own daughter, Elaine, into such a marriage, should he be the one sitting across the table in Ng’s place. But he quickly decided that he could not, for Frieda would not have allowed him to betray their daughter that way. Outwardly he asked, “Are you sure your daughter accepts this?” Ng was now all the more sure. He did not see any glint of licentiousness in David’s eye. It was purely business. Ng thought, this man, he has seen and done much. He will protect Samantha. It is a good solution. Father will be happy too. Ng explained that Samantha was raised to understand her obligations to family and tradition. Whatever education she has had, Cambridge and the expensive

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finishing schools in Europe, her main education was that from Pamela. Pamela has taught their daughter well and has managed their daughter’s life, without intrusion and unsuspectingly. Samantha will do as suggested to her. Her mother will ensure it. And she will make David a good wife with the right social class and global networks to enlarge his business. David understood Ng very well with his last sentence. Yes, Samantha can be an asset to the enlarged business. “I understand you but let me speak with her myself,” David said. “If she agrees, we proceed. If she does not, you need to decide if you want the deal to go on without this security. Please arrange the meeting. Diana Musa, my PA will be in touch. Thank you for offering me Pewajaran. I know what the company means to you and to your family. It is an honor to meet you finally, Ng.” Ng nodded. Got up. Shook David’s hand firmly. Walked away. The golf club house was empty that afternoon. Only a few lazy afternoon golfers sitting around with their coffees and beers, shooting the breeze. The music in the background soothed him. He was happy. He knew he has saved Pewajaran. He felt his dead father smiling at him. Father is pleased. He did well. Samantha is his child. She will understand that saving the family’s name and company must take precedence and that it is time for her to grow up. It is time for Samantha to become an ‘Ng’.

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11

The next day, Pamela rang Samantha in Paris. “Sweetheart, I will be coming in tomorrow. Can we go shopping?” Samantha knew her mother well. Shopping was a euphemism. A euphemism for what this time? Mother must have something important to say. More complaints about her dancing partners? More complaints about Daddy? More wishful thinking for a better cosmestic surgeon? What does she want this time? Samantha sighed. Sam in Paris was a happy Sam. She spoke the language without hesitation and could walk into any club without prior booking, with or without a male partner. She was known in the best places and sometimes, she appeared in magazines, photographed with new celebrities of the day. She, however, kept away from the limelight as best as she could. She knew that her father did not like too much publicity. She was in Paris, this time around, to study fashion and complete her ‘life education’ that way. Mamselle, her coach from the finishing school, was very particular over her charges and did not advise overly mad partying for future heiresses. “Every young lady must spend at least a year in Paris getting to know herself,” Mamselle had said. “But not for every man to know her,” she firmly insisted.

“Just play things light, tease and be teased. But never bed. You are too valuable.” Nothing her charges did not know since the girls came from families where wealth was so large that it was never spoken about and things appeared so cheap that their parents bought only the barest though they could afford the best. It was the world of the super rich. They knew when and how to spend. For impact they would buy the $20,000 gown, but for day to day use, Marks and Spencer’s clothes would serve just fine—no fuss, long lasting and not draw too much unnecessary attention from fortune hunters. Samantha had left Chee Pin in Singapore just two months back. Two summers ago, they had given each other their vows of love as they shared the bed every afternoon with laughter and a lot of passion. She was 20 then and she loved that pilot-man. He was her sweetheart, the reason for her laughter, the souce of her happiness, ever since she were a young child. Before that star-dotted summer, Chee Pin was just a big brother, friend and teddy bear, all rolled into one. After that, Chee Pin became her lover and future hope of marital bliss. He had made her happy like no one else could. One day, Father would understand. One day, Chee Pin would also grow up to realize that becoming Father’s son-in-law was something that he should want compared to flying. He could fly his own small jet one day, if he still fancied flying. Father would buy him one. For now, Samantha was secure in the knowledge that Chee Pin was hers and those long afternoons when they were alone in the Ng mansion were delicious memories.

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She had sent for Chee Pin to join her in Paris. But he had his airforce training, and besides, she also thought, he might not enjoy this side of her, this too happy, too frivolous side—the mask she puts on as Miss Socialite, as her mother’s daughter. Mother flew in the next day. First class. With her small carry-on bag despite the cold Parisian winter. They had an apartment here on Ile St-Louis. There was hardly a need to pack since they were just going to their third home. The second was in London and the fourth in New York. Having rested on the flight, Pamela was full of energy. Her outward style was, however, not energetic. Even when raring to go, Pamela would always look calm. It was all so Grace Kelly. Practice always makes perfect. Her speaking tones were even. She took much pride that she had trained herself to be the wife of a powerful man, and one to be respected in her own right, her mad splurges with her dancing friends aside. It was her proud bearing despite her height that kept away the rumors that plagued her other friends, especially that louder speaking and truth-blaring megaphone friend, Mrs Chew. No one wanted the truth, Pamela knew, so why give them truths? Just play along and you are better off. Just be the idol they want and you’ll get further in life. The public wants to crown kings and queens all the time. Pamela made herself a queen and allowed the unsuspecting public to adore her. She then made Samantha her successor. It was all training. From toilet training days, to college, to flights all over the world in pursuit of the best and the finest, it was all training for the

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days when Samantha would reign in the public’s eye and cover the pages of The Singapore Tatler. Mother and daughter left the blue and white apartment that was decorated by Philippe Denier, the designer for apartments in Paris. A blend of white hand-made, handcarved furniture sat on plush pale lavender wall-to-wall carpeting. Over the fireplace, a Marc Chagall hung. How Pamela obtained the Chagall no one asked. But it was clearly expensive and definitely purchased through a private deal. Christie’s would have wanted this piece to auction off. It was unique and not quite done in the typical Chagall style. The colors were muted and less dark. The figures were dancing in a celebration of life. It seemed influenced by Matisse’s The Dancers, but clearly it could not have been. It was a Chagall, spiritual, dark and light in its own way, open to interpretation by the observer and speaking eternal messages through dashes of paints. They did love art, Pamela and Samantha, and were glad that Ng had the funds for them to invest in pieces that they could enjoy and that appreciated in value over the years. At Café Eiffle, Pierre came out with French flair, greeting them both for the beautiful, clear, Parisian blue sky morning and asking how he could serve them that day. Pamela responded equal to the task, in French, and asked about his girlfriend, knowing that Pierre’s girlfriends were aplenty and this middle aged waiter just would not settle down. Why should he? The occasional tourist gave him experiences that no one single woman could in a lifetime.

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All he had to do was to show them Paris and love-making the Parisian way. They tipped well and were generous. He picked them. He was fussy. Only the young and gorgeous. Only the rich and not too fat. Only the ones with hair in the right places and real teeth. He was very fussy, Pierre was. The old hags who walked in from some third world country with bad teeth and plenty of money were not for him. For that he referred them to his friends and took a commission. This job was not too bad. After all, many would die to be there, looking at the most romantic symbol of modern time, the Eiffel Tower, just across from the café. And oh, Pierre refused the men. For that he referred them to Anton who loved men, come what size and shape, with or without money. Anton loved foreign men, and of late, he especially preferred Koreans. He said that Korean men were somewhat more masterful in bed and when it counts. But he complained now and then that the Koreans were so stingy. Pierre rolled his eyes subconsciously at the thought. Men? Why men? Why bother with men? When the world was full of beautiful flowers, beautiful women? Le femme like this Mademoiselle Samantha … so sweet … so délicieux. He would love to show Mademoiselle Paris for free. He would love to teach her Parisian love-making for free too. But she never once asked. Her mother was attractive too. But she too never once asked. Pierre sighed and returned to his present role of serving water. Mineral water. Expensive taste these women. Wine would be cheaper and common. Mineral water with that slice of lemon. Same price, no taste. Singaporean women? He did not understand them. A little screw loose, he

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thinks to himself, nearly tapping the side of his head with his forefinger to show his incomprehension of their lifestyle and preferences. Pamela settled down in her seat, took a sip of the expensive handbottled mineral water from some ‘eternal natural spring’. She looked at Samantha. Oh no, here it comes, Samantha thought. What now? What other new school does she want me to attend? I want to go home next summer to Chee Pin. I had sent him a ticket to come over for Valentine’s Day but he refused and sent it back. The crazy man refused to take my ticket when Paris would be lovely and having dinner together on Valentine’s Day would be so very nice. Maybe he could even have proposed or done something nice for me. Whatever it is, sex with him would have been great on V-Day and worth the journey. I was so looking forward to him visiting and now I have to wait till summer before going home. Otherwise, there would be too many questions from Mother and Father. “Sam, you know you are Daddy’s happiest asset.” Samantha screwed up her nose just that tiny bit. She did not like being called an ‘asset’, happy or otherwise. Where was she on his balance sheet anyway? Next thing I know, they will call my spending a liability. She was just his daughter, can’t they see? But truth be told, she was used to being thought of that way in the family. The dog was an asset, the cat was a liability, the amah was an asset, Kowfu, Pamela’s eldest brother who brought shame to the family, was a liability. The asset and liability list went on and on. It was just how the Ngs saw the world. Either something was an

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asset or it was a liability. Both had to be dealt with— invested or harvested, discarded or cut off. It was a black and white world when you saw life that way. It made life simpler and not harder, as decisions were more measurable based on expected outcomes. The sun shone brightly. Somehow the light in France was different from the light in Singapore. It had to do with the humidity and the atmospheric conditions, Sam was told. The light here made everything look different. The blues were bluer and truer, yellows were brighter or deeper as the case may be, and the pinks were fuchsia or baby-hued. Everywhere you looked, Paris was like a work of art. Visual compositions were everywhere. With her keen eye for composition and colors— which was why she was always well-dressed and seldom tardy—Samantha decided that this was a good time to detract her mother from further speech. She started view-finding with her hands like some professional photographer whilst her mother looked on. Her mother was used to her antics. Sam always changed the subject by focusing elsewhere. To Pamela, Sam’s hand-cameraviewfinder diversion was not new. “Listen, you need to listen, Sammie-baby. Daddy loves you, extremely. The business is in trouble. We need a solution or we will lose everything we have,” Pamela urged. Pamela was thinking of her mansion and the large, deep man-made koi pond that went from the front of the house where the living room was, to the side of the house where the $100,000 Japanese landscaped garden was. The happily swimming kois had cost a fortune too. Ng

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kept them for luck. She suddenly remembered the near all-white koi they bought five years ago. It had red and black stripes across the top of its head. Ng paid $200,000 for it in an open bid. Isn’t it strange what probable adversities cast our minds towards? Instead of thoughts on how the Ngs would survive if made poor, Pamela’s thoughts were on the loss of luxuries like her koi fishes which swam lazily in her specially built deep koi pond. That deep pond allowed the kois to swim unrestricted, enabling them to grow naturally as though in the wild. Ng and his wife took pride in that pond and had a ready little exposition on how shallow ponds did not give kois the freedom to exercise their ‘up-down’ muscles. The lack of right exercise therefore made the kois fat instead of giving them that streamlined aerofoil shape that all good kois will have if bred correctly. Ng and his wife often turned up their noses at their friends’ fat-bodied kois and willingly shared their knowledge on what it takes to raise beautiful kois—constant care for a million dollars living in a deep pond outside the house, prone to the vagaries of weather and disease. Proper koi raring was a rich man’s hobby and something only the elite class could afford. In Singapore, it separated the wheat from the chaff when it came to old time entrepreneurs. Oh no, we will lose our koi pond! There is almost a million dollars swimming in that pond, Pamela thought in a mild panic, now remembering the other koi that was pure white with just one perfect red dot on its forehead, called ‘Nippon’ for obvious reasons.

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Resigned, Samantha lowered her hands and decided to listen. What now? Another business calamity? She recalled 1986 when Pan-El crashed and 1987 when the stock market plummeted on October 19th. She was merely a child then. Her father had returned home ashen-faced. But Daddy pulled through those crashes and expanded the business. In fact, he rose above the financial mess and picked up treasures along the way, building Pewajaran to what it was today. “The company needs US$1 billion to make good, or show that it can make good the loans it took from the banks. Remember when we expanded in Indon and Thailand because the property market was booming? Well, Dad leveraged and bought land extensively. We built the land bank in Pewajaran.” Pamela knew all this because of sexy Marcos of course. Nothing to do with her own reading or Ng’s discussions with her. Marcos was so handy with reading annual reports, the newspapers and writings from the analysts. As they danced, Marcos kept her entertained knowing that this was the way to Pamela’s fidelity towards him. How else can a dance partner ensure his client’s loyalty? Besides being entertaining, fashionable, listening to her problems and woes of the week, having a really tight tush and taut lean legs, a dancing partner must be more. Women can be as discerning as men when it comes to the selection of long term non-spouse partners. After all, a few hours every week in bed or on the dance floor can either be boredom or nirvana, one way or another. “The banks have given Pewajaran three months to come up with a solution. This is after long negotiations.

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Daddy’s shares are pledged to them against the loan as are the rest of our properties. If they call, we will lose the company completely. And our homes. Even that plot of land in Bali that Daddy bought for you for your 21st birthday. That will go too as it had not been transferred into your trust. They will sell Pewajaran to whoever will take it. We will lose everything. Everything. Do you understand?” By now Pamela was looking wild-eyed and panicky. “Do you understand?” she repeated in a very high pitched and loud voice. Samantha leaned back into the fashionable café chair that was not too comfortable by intentional design. Dispassionately she asked, “What do you need me to do?” Pamela sometimes wondered at Samantha’s straight, to the point, no-nonsense attitude when talking to her. Taking a very deep breath, she said, “Daddy wants you to marry David Chang.” Inside, Samantha reeled at this totally unexpected idea. Externally, no emotion showed. “David Chang? Why David Chang? He wants me? Why?” At this point, Pamela was relieved that she had gotten this far as messenger for Ng. She continued, “Daddy is merging our company with his to rescue Pewajaran. But as you know, Daddy built Pewajaran for you all these years. He does not want to lose control of the company. So if you married David, and because you are just so special, David will listen to you and it will still be as though the

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company got larger through the merger, so you will have control over a larger company.” Samantha laughed. “Mother, you alright? Do you truly believe what you have just said to me? Do you honestly think that David Chang will listen to me on how to run a business empire? You are talking about the Forbes Asian Businessman of the Year for three years running. This man has a record that is nearly comparable to Daddy’s six awards over a 30-year track record.” Mother, your dancing and Marcos have made you fit for Woodbridge, Sam thought to herself. Her mother must be totally nuts to believe that she, Sam, could run a business. “Daddy needs this, I know. You need this too, I know. But David Chang needing this?” Sam drove her point home. “Sammie dearest, David Chang is quite enthralled by you so it seems. He wants to talk to you personally to find out your feelings. He wants to know if he can make you happy. Sammie, this is a chance of a lifetime. When I married Daddy, we only owned a few lousy trucks.” Pamela was referring to the fleet of 700 trucks Ng owned in Indonesia and possibly the only logistics company in Indonesia at that time, given the difficulty and red-tape for any company to obtain a logistics license that could run inter-province. “Now you will, through David, own one of the largest companies listed on the SGX and even better, after the merger, it will be the largest after Pewajaran pulls itself out of this current debt situation. Just think of it! Doors will fly open for you everywhere.”

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They already fly open for me, Samantha reflected silently. And it has nothing to do with money. In this respect, Samantha was naïve about money still. She honestly believed that it had something to do with her charm. “Anyway, dearest Sammie, Daddy has to go ahead with the merger now. David Chang asked to meet you next week. Daddy says that if you meet him and do not like him, you can say ‘no’. We will accept it. After all, dear princess, we only want your happiness.” The beautiful, well mannered and elite school-trained Samantha Ng almost snorted at her mother’s words. My happiness? My happiness? I have just been used as offering to the emperor in exchange for land rights! Does this Emperor Chang know that I am no longer a virgin? My happiness! Hah! Mother is almost comical sometimes. “So I can say ‘no’?” “Of course. You can say ‘no’. We hope you will like him though. Daddy thinks he is a good man ... ‘an honorable man’, Daddy said ... and you know Daddy looks up to men with honor.” “Mother, listen. What if I told you that I already love another?” Sam blurted out, not able to take her mother’s nonsense any further. “Mother, what if I told you that I love someone so important to me that I will die without him?” “You mean Chee Pin, don’t you?” her mother asked airily. Sam was surprised. Her mother knew. How did she know? All those months that he was there, they were

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away in Europe. The servants must have talked. They must have! And I thought they cared about me and my happiness. That Ah Seng is too much. Yusof is worse. And as for that Esmeralda, I should never have trusted her. Servants are sly, horrid people. As if reading her mind, Pamela continued, “We know about Chee Pin. And no one told us anything, certainly not the servants who all adore you. A long time ago, Daddy had cameras installed in the house without telling anyone. He wanted to keep an eye on me ... a long time ago.” Now he no longer cares who I am with, Pamela added silently, only that I never bring these men home. “What?” Sam was shocked. Cameras in her home? Were they in her bedroom? “Dear, the cameras are in the living room and the study where the maids are most of the time. Behind that wonderful masterpiece by our great and beloved Mr Chua Ee Kay and the tiny purple rose one by Dr Earl Lu. Daddy had cameras embedded into the frames a long time ago.” “So you know. So you know that I love Chee Pin and I have all these years.” “Well, Daddy said to me that if you can convince Chee Pin to leave the airforce and join us in business, he will have his blessing. I think he mentioned something about David Chang accepting you into the business to run the fashion arm of Chang Empire in future. We will of course lose control of our shares that way to David, but it is nothing compared to your happiness. David told your father that with 20 per cent of the enlarged company,

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Daddy would still have a significant say on the board. So darling, darling baby Sammie angel, the choice is yours,” her mother cooed. “Yes, but we will lose Pewajaran.” “Yes, we will. But if you marry David, marriage will seal ownership half-half.” “Mother, haven’t you heard of pre-nuptials? Why on earth would David want to marry me without a prenup?” “Sammie, I don’t know the details. But you should meet David. Ask him these questions, sweetheart. He will give you the answers. It would be from the horsie’s mouth.” Pamela had exhausted her total knowledge of what to say to her overly book-smart daughter. Probe any further and Pamela would probably have faked a fainting spell. Sam beckoned Pierre. She wanted to pay and go home. Her mother was worse than usual. Most times, Sam could see her coming like a truck down a lonely road in the middle of the Sahara. Today her mother was crashing through like a locomotive runaway in the quietest part of France. Keeerr-Chunnng. Keerr-Chunnnnggg … TOoot ToooOOTT. My goodness. How did her mother become so manipulative? No! How did Daddy become so manipulative? Am I like that? Am I like them? Whatever are the thinking? What utter nonsense comes from their mouths! Don’t they know how they sound? Signing the bill and leaving a nice tip for Pierre who was beaming from ear-to-ear wondering when he might be asked to show Mademoiselle Samantha ‘Paree’ and

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love-making the ‘Paree’ way, Sam turned to her mother. “Okay, Mother. You win. I will meet David. I want to understand how an intelligent and shrewd dealmaker like Mr Chang ... no correction ... like Emperor Chang can agree to something as nincompoopish as this. It sounds like the dark ages if you ask me. But I guess no one will ask me what I want. After all, I am just ‘Sammie angel’.” Pamela nearly sighed with relief. This had been easier than she envisioned. She smiled her big megawatt smile, flashing her all too white teeth against her all too red lipstick, “Oh Sammie, I am sure you will enjoy meeting him. He is so smart. And so masterful! He will make you such a good husband. Chee Pin … you can always call Chee Pin over for tea sometimes. And you can always meet him in Bangkok. We do have that lovely lovely apartment that Khun Khurawad did up for us, that genius of a man. Too bad he’s gay.” Sam was already walking away from the table. Her mother picked up her white Hermès bag, retied her deep blue Hermès scarf, took another sip of the ‘eternal spring mineral water’ from the still full glass, and followed her. She has completed her task. Sammie will listen. She will marry David. Pamela Ng was so sure of it. Even more sure of it than she was sure of Marcos’ next steps after floating like an angel with him on dance floors in her chiffon, handkerchief-paneled skirt to her many giggles and his many stolen squeezes for the last five years.

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12

“Mister David Chang is here, Miss Samantha,” Esmeralda announced. Oh good! He’s finally here. This GOD that my mother never stops talking about. This GOD that I am to marry. This GOD that will replace the God of my idolatry! He is finally here! Samantha thought angrily to herself. For some reason, the cool Samantha who went to the best boarding schools and the finest finishing schools was not so cool this afternoon. She was seething inside. How dare her parents! And she thought they were educated human beings of the civilized world. It was almost like she was being used by her father in some barbaric feudal trade between two warlords. She was the sacrificial lamb, the dumb princess being carted off to the ugly old beast of the stronger manor, to become the beast’s wife just so her retarded parents can retire and spend their old age chewing gold peanuts! That’s what this stupid and insane proposal is. She was so angry, angry at her parents for using her that way and angry at Chee Pin for failing to rescue her. Where the heck is that Chee Pin when I need him? In some horrid training in Taiwan. Defending the country? How about defending me? ME! I am your future wife, you dumb ass. How dare you go to Taiwan! I wish Daddy

had enough money to buy this god-damn Airforce—oh I forgot!—we are now poor and at the mercy of Mr David Chang, the GOD! Samantha was irrational. And why shouldn’t she be? After all, how rational can things be in a world where daughters are given away for 50 per cent the controlling stake of what might eventually become the largest listed company in Singapore if the merger went through. In the 20th century, in broad daylight, with the public reading all about it and scouring The Business Times for any information that would potentially change stock prices, her marriage to David Chang will be the talk of the town for months. In Singapore! This was an arranged marriage if anything. It is so unthinkable that it is unbelievable. An arranged marriage in civilized Singapore, the prided nexus between the East and West, a country that is reported to be the most developed and most Western of that which used to be known as the ‘Asian Tigers’. Facts are stranger than fiction. Always. Always! Never mind her old crazy father. What is this David Chang thinking of ? This David Chang. I want to meet him. How dare he think that I can be sold? How dare he even think that meeting me would change my mind? Which century was the man born in anyways? Oh yes, I already said. Bloody medieval! He probably killed his first wife in their four poster bed, slamming down the top of the bed to the bottom like those robber innkeepers in old England. My Gawd. He might even kill me in bed after we are married. Maybe he has a four poster bed, this mad man. What on earth are they all thinking of ? And my mother—she is a real looney whose only thought is

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sex with that thing she calls a man, that sleazy, slippery Marcosy person. What sort of a mad family is this? They are all mad. Mad! Need a kundalini or two to cleanse them out, that’s what! Samantha felt a bit clever and better after that internal outburst in her head. She picked up her soft napa leather white monogrammed Louis Vuitton bag and slipped on her matching $800 pair of sandals. She looked casual. She had intended to. Her white linen dress sat well on her. The A-line cutting flowed from her slender hips and the high cut-away slits showed off her very slim long and slightly tanned legs. Tossing back her hair and taking one last look at the mirror in her room, she smiled. She looked very good. David Chang will not know what hit him when this demure looking Asian beauty tells him what she thinks of him and his pompous jack ass idea in no uncertain terms. What disrespect for the female race! Disgusting man. David was not in the black S-Class Merc that was at her front door. Only his driver was. Chicken man, she thought in school girl colloquialism and forgetting her years of English and French breeding. David Chang is a chicken man. Chicken, chicken, chicken! She slipped into the car’s backseat and nodded to the chauffeur. The car purred its way out of the long driveway, out the auto-gates and into Holland Road. The Ngs’ restored mansion disappeared from sight as the car glided its way effortlessly through traffic down to Raffles City where David would meet her. ‘Tea at Equinox’ the little card said.

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Obviously typed by his secretary in cahoots with David Chang. Samantha had read the card and tossed it away, remembering the date, time and venue very quickly. She couldn’t wait to forget it just as quickly. Equinox was quiet at that time. Only a table or two. Rich taitais or taitai wannabes ‘tea’ there in the afternoons on a weekday. The waitress showed Samantha to a very well appointed table with a commanding view of the city out the window and an equal view of the restaurant, but yet was hidden away from inquisitive eyes and gossipy lips by a giant palm. No David. Just her. Huh? This man is impossible. He asks to meet me and then arrives late. What could be more important than the first meeting with his future wife? And what could be more important than making peace with her at the start of their relationship? Stupid man! Sam’s angry thoughts rambled on. Two earl grey teas, a visit to the washroom and half an hour later, Samantha saw a tall man walk in. He was wearing a double breasted blazer with unusual ease— most Asian men looked out of sorts in these double breasted things, looking like overgrown school boys or some English relic left behind after independence from the British. But David Chang carried himself with a distinguished air of someone very sure of himself. He was very well-built for an Asian man. Then Sam remembered. Of course, she had seen David at balls and functions. He was always there stag. It did not matter which ball or what function. She could not figure out how a man like he could attend functions alone when any woman would have gladly clung onto his arms, tottering in on some extremely high nonfunctional heels.

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He was the ‘mystery man’ to her group of giggling friends in their own very high heels and expensive evening outfits. Hmmm ... interesting, the ‘mystery man’ wants to marry me, she thought, feeling a little flattered. But of course, she banished those thoughts quickly. David strode up and sat across from her. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Your father was on the phone over some detail about the deal. He is too anxious.” Sam half-smiled. “Good, you have had some tea. Waitress … ah … Matilda … coffee … black … thank you.” At the name ‘Matilda’, David gave her a half-wink, as though to say he cannot understand how such ah niahs, or common girls, could have such exotic names once they begin working in five-star hotels. It was amazing as you can almost imagine some of these waitresses and waiters, dressed in bermudas and rainbow-colored Bossinis, buying fish at Tekka Market on a Sunday—and here they were having the most English, Italian, French, German and even Nordic of names. Names were such a mystery! Samantha nearly laughed recalling how she once met two waitresses called ‘Vegina’ and ‘Jessiebelle’, and in the same hotel, a porter named ‘Shakespeare’. Why can’t people just be called ‘Mary’ or ‘Martha’ or ‘Ellen’? Or even ‘Oprah’? Why do they have to make up the strangest names? Just imagine being called ‘Vegina’ loudly in some social place or being called ‘Jessiebelle’ while attending church. That would be hilarious. It reminded Sam of the very middle-aged women at Maxwell food court that Chee Pin had taken her to. Some of them wore tee-shirts with the strangest messages.

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One of the women for example, loved wearing a bright yellow tee with the words ‘Good Pussy’ embossed right on top with a picture of a cat to the side. It completely confounded her why relatives of these women with funny tees do not stop them from wearing those shirts. After all, most of the young people in Singapore were educated and nearly all homes had televisions. It is one thing for Paris Hilton to wear a naughty tee, if she ever did, but it was something else for an auntie, a woman past her prime, to do so in the middle of Maxwell market in Singapore. A ‘Good Pussy’ tee-shirt! Yikes! The cops are probably too embarrassed to arrest that woman for public indecency. Put that tee-shirt on a sweet young thing from Singapore Polytechnic and the poor girl would probably be expelled. This is so Singapore-lah. Samantha shivered subconsciously at the thought. Yucky. So yucky. Good whatever indeed. David knew that he had caught Sam’s attention. There was the tiniest smile playing on her face as she remembered ‘Jessiebelle’. Just the tiniest tilt at the corner of her beautiful pink Guerlain lips. Jezebel was of course the wicked harlot wife of King Ahab in the Bible. Did Jessiebelle know that her namesake was the wickedest witch in the Holy Book? A whore? Her smile had less to do with David than her internal musings. But David knew he had achieved his planned effect. Okay, he said to himself. Now that I have her attention, I will talk and she will listen. He looked out the window. It was a clear day. From the Equinox one could see Singapore at its best. When

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it was once called Compass Rose, David had brought Frieda here for their second last anniversary. Frieda was wistful then. She wished that she had more years to live and share with David. The cancer had taken her energy and the light out of her eyes. Frieda was tired but to David, man of the world, hunter without parallel in the business world, charismatic leader of his staff, Frieda was the most precious and beautiful woman he knew. She was his sweetheart who saw him through thick and thin, from days of Maggi mee in Kent Ridge Hall to dining at Matthews in New York. Frieda was his love and love like that comes only once in a lifetime, but even that once is sufficient because it fulfills everything one can ever hope for in life. Frieda was the only Mrs Chang in his heart. Samantha was unsure if she should speak. This is an unusual man. He arrives late at our first meeting. He wants to marry me. He sits down. He stares out the window. And now he looks like he is going through some emotional recall staring out the window looking at Singapore. What can be so emotionally provoking about the Pan Pacific Hotel from here? It looks quite nice, she thought quizzically. Boring but nice. David turned around. Looked at her. He really looked at her. Into her eyes. She became very uncomfortable. He was looking deeper and deeper. No one had ever looked at her that way before. Not her amah. Not the English boys or near lovers. Not even Chee Pin. No one. It was not a look that seared through her clothes to strip her naked. Worse. It was a look that seared into her soul to find her truth. This was not the language of men, at least not the language of most businessmen anyway,

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she thought to herself. Is this how he dates women? Intruding into their privacy with such devastating penetration? What is he doing? Why does he do this? She fidgeted. David coughed slightly and began to speak. Finally, Sam thought, the man speaks! Hooray! “I know you probably have many thoughts on why you are here and what I want.” You are dead right about that! Sam retorted mentally. “You might even think that I am some dirty old man after you for your money and youth.” He was disarmingly to-the-point for someone so well dressed. “I am not. I have enough money, and I can make whatever I want without this deal. This deal however is good. It makes total sense to me. It cuts short my journey to achieve what I want for my company. I respect your father as a businessman. He is fair but tough. He has built a good business but a weak company. He should have never listened to those bankers with their continuous streams of new products. He should have grown his company with more care. He was just a little greedy in the last deal. The business circles were watching how he would execute it and for a while it seemed to go fine. But this crisis is beyond him. Beyond most men. Or women for that matter.” David added the last point for Sam’s benefit. Sam played with her silver teaspoon. Stirred her already very well stirred tea. Then placed her silver teaspoon down, looked up and asked coolly, “Alright then, tell me, what is this about?” She was not expecting such a man at all. All her pentup emotions seemed childish now on reflection. This

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man was not after her body or her money. She was quite sure. And she could see why. This man could have had most women and he has made enough to last 20 lifetimes with many Mercedes-es and beautiful homes to spare. He did not need the Ngs. The Ngs needed him. So why did he agree? Why? She was even more curious. This time she was just intelligently curious and no longer emotional. “Your father came to see me a month ago. He wanted the deal done. It is a good deal. Even without too much due diligence, I know it will be a good deal. Price-wise we can always talk for what is fair. The banks will love it. If one does not, another will. I can swing them over. The deal will buy time. When the crisis is over, we will reorganize the company and sell the assets off at much better prices. Your parents for their equity in the company will have more than enough to keep them happy. I will buy a part of their shares from them directly as part of the agreement. What they take away will be significant compared to the company being sold now in a fire sale. Your trust will be saved. My company will benefit from the asset restructuring and personally, I will then control Pewajaran’s businesses in Indonesia, Malaysia and South China. The tyre franchise is good. The land bank will appreciate. Pewajaran is valuable to the right partner.” David paused, looking at Samantha to see if she was following. She was. “The Pewajaran name will go on as the enlarged company will be called Chang-Pewajaran. Your father thinks that this is what his father would want. I can understand his sentiments. I did not have a father who

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left me anything, but if I did, I would want to preserve his legacy. It is the Chinese thing to do.” “Why me?” Sam asked. “Emmm … yes, you … that is a puzzle, isn’t it? It’s simple. Your father will feel happier with the deal if we are married. The market will perceive it better than a completely white knight deal. They will see it more as a merger rather than take-over of Pewajaran. The co-brand is good for my company.” He paused again. “You and me—we will sign an agreement in contemplation of divorce. If the marriage works within and after 10 years of being together, we will both tear up the agreement and I will treat you in every way as a wife when it comes to money. If it does not work after three years, you will get US$10 million up front and a monthly upkeep thereafter for the rest of your life. Your parents need not know of this. They should think of it as a regular marriage.” “Regular?” Sam remarked. “There is nothing regular about this.” “My dear, there is never anything regular about marriage. Even in the best of them all. Nothing regular at all,” David said. Samantha thought. How mercenary! He is just a mercenary old fart. David was looking out the window again. He said, “I was married to the most wonderful woman in the world. Frieda. She gave me all the freedom I needed to succeed. She trusted me, encouraged me, loved, protected and supported me. She was my world. With her I have three children. Two will be in the company soon. Elaine is just

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some years younger than you. She looks like her mother. Each time I see her, I am amazed at how beautiful she is. Not my genes, Frieda’s genes. I cannot hope to have the same conjugal happiness twice in this lifetime. It would be too much for any God to grant a mere mortal. And no matter how powerful we get in business, we are just that … mere mortals and frail. A few cancer cells can kill. Life is taken. Nothing, not all the money in the world can bring someone back when that last breath is gone.” Samantha realized in that one moment that this was probably all that David will ever say to anyone about his wife, if he spoke at all about her to friends or colleagues. He had shared his innermost thoughts with her within an hour, spoken plain truths as he saw it. He did not mince words or make them unnecessarily harsh. He was just a human being doing his best in life. ‘A good man’, her father had called him. Father was right, David was a good man. She could sense his goodness. For a brief moment, she felt privileged. “But I’m in love with someone else,” Samantha decided to disclose. “After all, honesty calls for honesty, don’t we think?” Also, it is best brought to the surface, she thought. She is not her mother. She cannot live with the secret hideaways in Bangkok and the breast-squeeze outside washrooms where Marcos waited for Pamela. She wanted love. She wanted Chee Pin. Where is he when she needed him? Taiwan seemed to be on the moon that afternoon. David looked back. Reached out his hand. Took hers, which was on the table, as though she was about to get up any minute to run off. David has had an impact

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on Samantha. What impact she was not sure. She was confused. She had never met anyone who was that composed, that sure, that full of deep thought and full of what were likely the underlying truths in life. This was not an ordinary man. He was a man educated by the harsher lessons of life and had come up strong and with grace. His hand felt nicely warm. It was a large hand and she felt secure somehow. Strange. This man whom she had never met before today—not face-to-face anyway— was holding her hand as though they were already long married, or in some liaison, and she felt … safe. Safe! “Yes. I know about the pilot. I know that the both of you were possibly childhood sweethearts. Childhood sweethearts are the best, aren’t they? But tell me, Samantha, can you live out the rest of your life as a pilot’s wife? Can you?” “What is wrong with being a pilot’s wife?” Sam shot back getting a bit hot around her neck. “Pilots make good living. And RSAF pilots are not to be laughed at.” Sam however knew exactly what he meant. David was not putting down the RSAF. In all probability, he played golf with the Chief of Air Force. Men like him usually did. David was asking Sam about Sam. It was not a question she could answer. It was a question that had burned in her for quite some time now, seeking an answer but getting none. “Nothing. Our pilots are the finest in this part of the world. They take tremendous pressure and are well paid compared to the other uniform groups. They are good soldiers and Singapore needs them. That is not the point

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and you know it. You are too smart not to know what I mean.” David took a sip of his coffee, grabbed the linen napkin off his lap and started to put that on the table in one motion, almost impatiently as though he was about to stand up and leave. Sam knew she had insulted his intelligence by not being intelligent herself. “Tell you what. Let me give you three months. The deal is to be consummated in three months. The banks will wait till then. Already they are all over me to find out how it will work. Your father is anxious but three months is good timing. For my company, for the deal and for you. You think about my offer. Ten years and we are truly man and wife when it comes to money. Before 10 years, the socalled pre-nuptial kicks in. You have nothing to lose. You just need to convince your sweetheart that this is for your father to save his company. There will be no sex, unless you ask for it, if you ask for it. But you shall not shame the marriage by sharing the bed with anyone else. That is the deal. If you walk out immediately after the wedding, that’s fine too. But if you stay three years, you get US$10 million and monthly pay-outs. Surely your pilot friend can wait three years.” “Look, I don’t get it. Why do this? Why? I just don’t get it.” “Why? Because it looks better to the public. Because I am indifferent to marriage and sex with you, and if this marriage makes your father happier with the deal, fine. And because at some point being married to a beautiful young woman like yourself will have its advantages in business and maybe even political networks.”

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In a flash, Sam understood. It was her father’s ongoing cooperation he needed. Not just the deal. Her father was very well connected to the right Indonesians, Chinese and Thais. He wanted those connections and connections take time to build. Especially in Asia. The Chinese say guanxi, or relationship, but it means so much more. It is patronage through the years and tacit understandings without the spoken or written word. David needed to know which warlord to make peace with and which warlord accepted gold, which wanted silver and which would only provide admittance on receiving diamonds and on what type of platter. Almost aloud, Sam thought, buying the company will not give access to such information and connections. Marrying me will open very big doors for David Chang. Doors that my father probably did not know how to leverage and keep open, or open wider. If David was indifferent to marriage and sex was not in the equation, this is then just a business transaction to him. But not one where I am being sold body and soul for a silver penny. Oh no. I am worth much more. I am valuable to him because of my family name and our history of connections. That is guanxi. Not shown on any balance sheet.” This man was clearly not interested in her. Oh dear, why not? she wondered. A man not interested in her ... maybe there was something wrong with him ... maybe with her. He had also said ‘no Chee Pin’, he had made that clear ... no Chee Pin? NO Chee Pin? Samantha’s mind froze at that thought. “The easiest way to test a man’s love for you is to ask him to give up the one thing he loves the most in the

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world against marrying you,” David said softly. I would have given anything for Frieda. I would have given everything if Frieda could have lived just a few more years, he thought. “Let me ask you, would Chee Pin give up flying for you? If not, are you sure you are prepared to give up your lifestyle, your birthright, and possibly your father’s name for him? Who is Samantha Ng? Have you thought that out? Until you do, this marriage is as good as any marriage. Believe me. At the end, do you know what you want?” Sam wanted to agree out loud but stopped herself. Yes. That was it. She realized that even while she may be prepared to give up her world as she knew it for Chee Pin, Chee Pin may not be willing to give up flying for her. Their love was yet untested. The distance between them had separated them that was true, but that did not necessarily test them in ways that being together would have. Life challenges and calls to personal sacrifices were often more demanding. She might want Chee Pin but David was right. She might not be that willing to give up everything for him. And if he never got promoted beyond being a lieutenant, that would mean a lifetime in an apartment without hope of the luxuries she grew up with. He would be happy. He would be flying. But she, she would have given up everything just to be with him. Was she prepared? David got up to leave. He would pay on the way out. He excused himself saying that he had finished all that he had to say that afternoon and that there was work in the office. He came over to her side of the table. Leaned

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down towards her. Held her shoulder with one hand and with the other, touched her face gently. He then gave her a kiss. “You are still very young. Well traveled. Very smart. But very young. I will look after you. I’ll see you again in three months’ time. Tell me then. If you need to talk before then, don’t. Just take this conversation as all that there is to be said at this point. I have been true this afternoon. I will be true thereafter. You need not worry. It has nothing to do with sex. Nothing. Take care.” Standing up, he stood just in front of her. Though tall, his eyes locked hers. They were just honest brown eyes, she thought. They penetrated her with every gaze but they were just plain brown eyes which have seen much and understood even more. Perhaps he screens off his real self when he meets business partners. Today however I think I have seen the real David. He was even more real than Chee Pin was in some ways. David seemed to be someone who had searched the whole of humanity to find his own soul. This she has not done. This, she was so lacking in despite all the training and coaching all over Europe. Samantha knew that she envied David in that split moment as she watched him leave with that no-nonsense but not ungraceful walk across the Equinox floor. At the entrance to the restaurant, he turned and looked at her, holding her eyes again. Nodding to her, he turned to leave. She saw him disappear from view. In a moment, he was gone. She suddenly realised that her heart had been beating rapidly and for some reason, she had held her breath watching him go.

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13

Beep. Beepidittee. Beepdittee. 8:00 am. Who on earth? Chee Pin probably. What time is it in Taiwan? Same time as Singapore? Where is that handphone? Hi Angel-Sweetheart-Sammie-Dear. Call you soon? Miss you. Yours, CP Sam texted back. Need to talk. Call me now? Sam

She was lying lazily in bed, half-dreaming, halfthinking of her encounter the day before with David and what it meant. She was so sure before she met David that he was a woman entrapper but meeting him up close showed her sides to herself and insights into a man that few would have seen. Of course he was 20 years older than Chee Pin, and 15 years younger than her father. Maybe that explained it. But it was probably more. David showed soul. She did not think that someone that driven in business could show that much soul.

Her Nokia played the first refrains from La Vie En Rose. She picked it up. “Hel-lo,” she said, dragging out the hello in her characteristic way. “Hi sweetie. Sorry I couldn’t call before. How was that important meeting yesterday? You were so secretive. Who was it with? Future boss? You intend to work with Sotherby’s?” Sotherby’s had offered her a regional manager role for her connections and network. Sam could do that job really well. The attraction was not the salary but the vocation. Sam needed a vocation. Being rich with nothing to do can create idle minds of the worst sort if one was not careful. “No. Not really. I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. When will you be back, Pin? We need to speak face-to-face quite badly.” “This detachment here will take the two full months, sweets. Another three weeks to go. The exercises have been great. Yesterday, we flew over the South China Sea. It was stupendous. Such a feeling! Singapore is so small you know. Here, here, we have space. Great space. We did this new maneuver yesterday. Beautiful. Sometimes I feel like Tom Cruise in Top Gun. I just feel so good. This is what I am born to do. I was born to fly.” Sam’s heart sank and rose at the same time. Chee Pin will never leave the airforce. Never. Life with him must mean being married to the airforce too. Colonel Raj had once thanked all the pilots’ wives at a squadron dinner for supporting them. He was a wise man that Colonel. He shook her hands as Chee Pin’s girlfriend. Few realized

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that she was Samantha Ng. She had taken care to shield that fact from most of Chee Pin’s colleagues. She envied Chee Pin. How wonderful it must be to know what you want to do with your life. I wish I did. And I wish that Father would let me do it if I did. All these obligations. If I really had my way, I would work with Gaultier or Dior. Working with clothes and fabrics excited her. She would have liked designing. Reading sociology at Cambridge was fun. But she could easily have done fashion in New York if mother had been less intervening. New York Fashion Institute was not the right place to meet future husbands, her mother had insisted. Mother! Whatever said, I envy Chee Pin, she thought. He always knew that flying was all he wanted in life. All he wanted. Sigh. Sam muttered something in support of Chee Pin’s enthusiasm. “Okay,” she said, “three weeks more.” It was quite pointless to explain all the plotting and scheming her parents were going through to marry her off to David. Chee Pin could never understand. He would even get angry. On reflection, anyone would have seen her mother’s hand in keeping her away from Chee Pin all those years. On reflection, it was obvious that her parents were class conscious. Her parents saw her as an investment to secure the family’s lineage. She had never been free. It was all an illusion. Now, she had to sort out what she wanted in her life. She could walk away from it all and become a near penniless Sam Ng with a good degree and finishing school

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to boot. She could but should she? Did it make sense to do so? It was pointless now to look back and to be mad at her parents for the way they were. As it were, Pewajaran was taking so much time to resolve. Even her mother’s dancing lessons seemed to have dropped to once every fortnight now. And there were fewer mystery callers in the middle of the night to her very, very private second handphone, the pink one whose number even she—Samantha—did not have. Why keep a second handphone? Maybe Marcos bought it for her. Perhaps secret overly descriptive SMSes were safer if locked away in a second handphone. Who cares. Her mother was nuts. Chee Pin continued talking a few more minutes. She was silent. There was nothing to say since the most important thing to be said could not be spoken. Not over the phone, anyway. And perhaps not ever. Samantha realized that Chee Pin may never understand her world. He had been raised peripheral to it. He had seen it and the players. But he would never understand the players; he would always either be the audience or the stage-hand. He was just not one of the members of the cast, like David was now, having risen meteorically to such heights to be accepted shoulder-to-shoulder, headto-head. To Chee Pin, life was always simply black or white. The most gray he could imagine was when his uncle had an affair with the Singapore Bus Service (SBS) station operator while his family of four hung on, hoping for their father to stop. Divorce was not the option in such

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families. The absence of money took away many options in life. The absence of a more complete further education limited the size of the stage that one got to play on in life. Success is so much determined by money or education. Money carries opportunities. Education opens doors. Without either, life is tough all around. Sam knew that. She was raised as a rich girl but she had eyes. Actions always carry repercussions and desires wrongly placed often result in unwanted outcomes. Sociology was not a bad course to take at university. It taught far more than most people realized. After all, what was life but communities of human beings living in some structuredunstructured manner with threads of sanity and insanity holding them all together, one generation after another? Oh, these are heavy thoughts on an early morning. There was no need. Chee Pin was hanging up. Blowing small kisses over the phone. More sweet nothings. This is strange, Sam wondered. Strange. I have known this man-boy all my life. And now it feels strange that he is away in Taiwan blowing me kisses. Somehow it feels alien to our dirty knees and the laughter we shared growing up. Somehow I now feel disconnected from him and from the time we first made love. She said ‘goodbye’ and ‘see-you’, and hung up.

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14

At breakfast, there was a small turquoise colored box next to her coffee mug. She loved that coffee mug. It was from Beatrix Potter’s house at Lake District in the UK. It was a lovely little mug. It looked childish and out of place in her glamorous life today. But the mug reminded her of the books she read while growing up, of her friends and visits to the lakes. Her English friends were fun. Growing up as a young lady at Surrey School for Young Ladies was fun. Perhaps not as fun as the schools described in her Enid Blyton books and certainly no one ever plays lacrosse anymore, but boarding school was fun. The English are particularly comical once you get to know them. They are able to laugh at themselves and are ever so self-effacing under that stiff-upper lip exterior. One can’t help but love them for their witty sense of humor. They are endearing. They are also quite quite mad. She remembered how her friends made a bet to come down from the top of Clarendon Tower in her school. They tied 11 bedsheets together, looping them to the iron-grilling and climbing out the window. It was ‘the great Rapunzel getaway’, they said. Just a schoolgirl experiment and a bet. She went first, Eartha followed second, and Muriel came last. The knots came loose just as Muriel was 10 feet from the ground. She came down like a sack of spuds, being slightly overweight.

Samantha smiled coming back to present day. The turquoise box called to be picked up. Tiffany. Satin white ribbon. Samantha undid the ribbon and opened the cover. It was just another Tiffany to Samantha. She had a drawer full of such blue boxes, some untouched. But this time she was not expecting anything from her father. A small card within. She opened it gingerly. Just one word written in bold black ink—‘David’. She took out the brown velvet box that sat snugly within the turquoise box and opened that. Inside lay a ring. It was a very discreet Elsa Peretti. Just two parallel gold wire bands with five tiny diamonds in between going around. The Peretti friendship ring or eternity ring. One would never have guessed that those few diamonds would cost what they do. It was one of those pieces that did not shout its presence but those who knew, knew. And it should only matter to those who knew. The rest were hoi-poloi. This was Tiffany. Samantha closed the box. Put it down. Took a sip of coffee. Took the box up again. Opened it. Took out the ring. Put it on. It fits. Wedding finger. Perfect fit. How did the man know? He must have studied her hands when he held it. She took it off, placed the ring back in the brown velvet box. Placed this into the classic Tiffany blue box. Tied the ribbon. Oh, she forgot the card. Slipped the card under the ribbon. Pushed it aside. Proceeded to have her muesli breakfast sprinkled with apricot bits and fresh raspberries. She loved the taste of fresh raspberries and milk with muesli. Somehow they went together. The man is intriguing, she thought. She loves Chee Pin. But this David person is intriguing. Finishing breakfast, she went back to her bedroom. Sat down at the computer and typed. The

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11 March 1998 [email protected] Dear David Thank you for the Peretti. She is one of my favorite designers. You noticed my earrings perhaps. How observant. I will think about your proposal over this period. I will be leaving for London, and then possibly Paris, tomorrow afternoon. It is best that I do my thinking in a place I also call home without the ‘noise’ of Singapore and my family. I think you understand. In a Cinderella world, women refuse such arrangements, preferring to wait for their princes on white horses. But in the real world, your proposal is not insensible, provided the terms are clarified and contracted between us. Perhaps an objective marriage with clear goals is preferable to the many messy marriages today that we observe. Perhaps. You have given me much to think about. I will return in three months with my decision. Meanwhile, please go along with my father. It makes no difference what the final decision is since the Chang-Pewajaran deal should go through in any case. The deal makes perfect sense as you said. At this time, Pewajaran cannot choose who it beds. Haha. Parallels not intended but perhaps truth. See you in three months in June. Sincerely, Samantha Ng

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London is always busy, Samantha thought. But here in ‘the maddening crowd’, to borrow a phrase from Thomas Hardy, one could think. One was left alone while the world went on, whirling around you at frantic speed— people chasing down trains, reading newspapers at street corners, walking fast to meet friends, the ‘hellos’ and the ‘goodbyes’, the frequent flashes of the ubiquitous red London bus passing by. If one so chooses, one could surprisingly hear one’s own thoughts in busy London. Samantha loved London even more than she loved Paris. The Parisians were very fine people, she thought frequently, but so different from the English whom she loved. It was one of those prejudiced conclusions that people tend to draw based on just a few experiences and encounters. Mostly, there would be no concrete basis for such opinions but that is how people often are. And for all of Samantha’s travels and trainings, she was no different. Sam was biased. For example, Samantha would think, compare the kisses and hugs of the French and the English, and the way the Londoners and the Parisians greet each other. It is so different that few would have guessed the

intertwining history and the intermingling of royal blood. The Londoners would do one of the three: a) shake your hands, b) not shake your hand or c) hug you in some lifethreatening bear hug, while the Parisians seemed to kiss everyone on both sides of the cheeks doing the muackmuack thing, with their hands placed on your arms so as to hold you away from them rather than draw you close to them. You cannot predict what the French will do even when they are blasting their emotions out at you. For the English, you can easily tell—when they are mad, they are, and when they were happy, they were too. Perhaps these views were just what Samantha experienced as she picked up the clues of different cultures while growing up in an English boarding school. Now she was back in London. She loved London. Her parents’ apartment in Bayswater was a cliché in their circles of friends. After all, it would have to be either Bayswater or Kensington. Her mother chose Bayswater because it was close to the Chinese restaurants but without the need to actually venture into Chinatown. Through the years, Bayswater had changed. From being Arab-owned to what it is today, completely unrecognizable due to the influx of Northern Indians. Each time there, her mother never fails to remark how the new mall never used to be there but how she was so glad it now was. Her mother would then remember the huge Boots pharmacy that used to be across the road from the mall. The pharmacy carried everything anyone could want but that was now gone, replaced by some less interesting shops, she would lament.

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Their flat was just a 10 minute stroll from the park. Samantha loved the park. Whatever the season, there was always something to see, something to experience. Even when it was just a plain walk through it. She connected with the park and each time she felt confused, the park would give her the answers she sought as she walked. Like the time red-haired Simon Closewell told her he fancied her during sixth form, when they were both 17. She had danced with him, whispered sweet-nothings, held his hands and enjoyed his English ways. But she was not ready to bed him. Kisses and heavy petting were as far as she wanted to go with Simon. Those were the preChee Pin days. She just did not want Simon Closewell to be the first. It did not matter if she was the oddity, and that her friends were all in and out of each other’s beds. She had found no reason to give herself completely to any of these boys, for they were just boys. It was not Chee Pin on her mind then, she had lost contact with him during those years. It was art. It was what it would take to convince her parents to allow her to paint and only paint. She did not want anything else then. She therefore found no necessity to lose her virginity just to prove a point, any point—whether that she was the poor rich girl, the confused misunderstood college student, or a teenager exploring her sexuality. To do the last, Sam discovered at boarding school that women did not quite need men for sex. In an all girls’ boarding school, you just learnt things, even when you were not gay and had no inclination to be so. Ellen and Renata were gay, and she loved them for their openness

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and how fun they always were. Once in a long while back then, she would fantasize about Chee Pin. But only once in a long while. Those were her teenage days and before that summer back home in Singapore. Today, the park was quiet. The squirrels were out, biting rapidly and furiously at some nut, and scampering about in feather-light steps. The dance of the squirrels in some park could have inspired many a modern dance, except that it was probably impossible to capture the lightness of its feet. Perhaps Tsaikovsky’s Sugar Plum Fairy was really a squirrel in some slow motion celebration of life. Chweet chweeet chweet chweet, and in a flash, gone from sight, hidden in some tree, scampering as fast as their little feet could take them and in an almost antigravity fashion. The Serpentine was quiet too. Even calmer and more secretive than usual without the bobbing sail-boats and the children by the side. Sam sat at her favorite bench. Stared out. What was life about anyway? She thought she loved Chee Pin. It was not about giving herself to him. She could have done that many years ago, even long before that holiday. Meeting David two weeks ago had shaken her. She knew it was not about him being older and more experienced. It was something else. Something about David, his sureness, his rock-silence, that quietness, so different from the vibrant booming CEO that one would imagine he needed to be to drive a great company. He was animated when he spoke but besides that, he was mostly deep and silent. What was it about that silence that intrigued her?

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Some Mills and Boons hero appearing in her life? Too corny. Some Mr Darcy in a super expensive Zegna suit? Insane. David got to her. It was not love, of course not, don’t be silly. One meeting, one tea-meeting, an hour of interaction, that is not love. What was it then? Samantha pondered away, lost in thought. She was carrying the small Tiffany box in her coat. She had brought it along to remind her of the decision she had to make. It felt surreal at times, that tea-meeting with David. It now required her to make a life-changing decision and soon. How flippant they made marriage sound; Mother with her concern over the family’s wealth, father with his sole focus on Pewajaran that he hardly spoke to her assuming that Mother took care of everything, David with his— what did he call that?—Agreement In Contemplation of Divorce, which is essentially a prenuptial agreement, or as prenuptial an agreement as you can get in Singapore, if indeed such an agreement would hold up in court. This was not what she had imagined marriage to be. In her heart, she had imagined that she would find that man of her dreams one day, the one who would capture her imagination and make her hold her breath with just a single look, the one whose touch would electrify her being and who would send streams of Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu through her soul. She imagined love to be everything those fairy tales said they would be, although in all practicality and cool-headedness she knew life to be different. So herein was the paradox. A modern woman. In modern day. Living a terrific modern lifestyle. Right

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on top of the world in fact. Having seen the convoluted liaisons of men and women that nothing surprised her much anymore, given the passions humans give in to when in heat for another. She has seen them all. The money games. The politics. The entangled relationships. She knew about her father’s mistress, Mei Ling. Mother knew about Mei Ling. It was the Singapore secret. She knew about Marcos, Benedict, Georges, Ignatius, yes Ignatius—her mother had dated an Ignatius, mind boggling. And Father knew about those toy boys too. But hers was not the only dysfunctional family. Her classmates all had them. Homosexuality, suicides, drug abuse, manias, madness, bankruptcies, dependencies, addictions … these only sounded unusual when whispered between friends, but when placed all together sideby-side, one will see that it is actually the non-afflicted family that is unusual. The calm, all-held-together, BettyCrocker-type of family—that would be totally unusual, or probably non-existent in fact. For example, she reasoned, all one had to do was to meet her best friend’s brother. James was a multimillionaire on inheritance and what did he do? He decided to turn champion for homosexual rights in Sydney speaking up against the Anglican church for their ways. Such a weedy man, tiny almost but with a booming voice and such conviction, scouring the Bible to justify his bent in life. Only last week he was on the Australian primetime news again, standing in front of a pulpit with a Bible in his hand proclaiming his rights. He came out, which was to be applauded, but straight onto television and on primetime news, shocking his ultra-conservative

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parents. His mother suffered a minor heart attack when he first told his family that he was gay. She was then immediately warded and have since become a shadow of her former self. Last week’s TV appearance sent her into palpitations and the entire family blamed James for his selfishness to live as he pleased. Life is not always clear, she knows. She had seen it all. But she wanted to believe that things would be different for her. She wanted to believe that she would find her prince. At whatever price. She would give up everything for him. But to be worthy of her, he must be able to do the same. What ideology, Samantha laughed at herself. But how do you laugh at something you know is probably ridiculous but is exactly what you believe in and want. It seemed like she were a princess on that high glass hill, where princes rode up on their brave steeds only to fall off in despair. She never encouraged any to climb only to fall but then, she has been waiting all her life for the right prince to rescue her. Wasn’t this prince Chee Pin? He was and have been her first love all those years. Wasn’t Chee Pin her one true love? She must find out. I will ask him. Is Chee Pin willing to give up flying for me if I gave up being an ‘Ng’ for him? I must find out.

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16

27 March 1998 [email protected] Dearest Pin I am in London. Since you will only be back at the end of April, I have decided to spend some time here. I need to sort out what I want to do in my life. Daddy’s business has some difficulties and I am considering going to work for Sotheby’s. The job sounds good. Regional Manager of Southeast Asian Arts. But I need to be located here in London to do the job. It requires trips to Asia of course, but for the first three years, while we formulate the strategy for Southeast Asia, I need to be here in London. I am thinking through what this means for me and for us. What do you think? Love, Sam

28 March 1998 [email protected] My darling Sam Flying is great. I love the Taiwanese airspace. It gives such freedom. The aircraft feels wonderful and flying with the Taiwanese is good. They are good pilots. I do enjoy the pretend dog-fights and the maneuvers. We did a fantastic nose-dive yesterday to pull up just 200 feet from the ground. It was exhilarating. It is a tough move. At the wrong speed and with the wrong pull-back, the aircraft could have stalled. That would spell certain death. Flying is still my life. It will always be my life. Am glad you are in London. Shop. Enjoy. Watch Phantom of the Opera again. How many times now? Eight times? Watch it once more. Sir Andrew’s songs get better each time you hear them. I MISS YOU. Especially your touch. Yours, Pin 28 March 1998 [email protected] Dear Pin It’s great you love flying. Life is so meaningful when you know what you want. What if I want to be in London? Will you come here? Will you start again here? Can you leave the SAF? —Sam

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29 March 1998 [email protected] The love of my life, Sam darling What are you asking? I cannot leave the airforce. The bond alone is half a million dollars by now. Singapore does not spend thousands training us on every flight, giving us a huge asset like the F-5 to bring up into the skies and clock flying hours with, just so that its pilots leave. It is an impossibility! Please reconsider. There are many art galleries in Singapore. Or ask your father to support you to set one up. You can be successful anywhere, darling. You have it all. You have the X-factor that most girls would die for. Yours, Pin 30 March 1998 [email protected] Dear Pin It’s 2:00 am. I can’t sleep. I would call you but talking would make me even more confused. The Sotherby’s job is good and will give me a chance to stand on my own two feet instead of going to Daddy for money. With your engineering degree from NUS, you will easily find something to do in London. I have half a million if I sell the land in KL that is in my name. I will pay off your bond. Consider please. —Sam

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31 March 1998 [email protected] Dearest Samantha, my love I CANNOT leave the airforce. I can’t understand your request. Why now? You know that flying is all I want to do. How can you say you love me if you can’t understand something so basic to me? Are you sure you love me? I am Chee Pin, the amah’s son. Yours lovingly and forever, Pin 31 March 1998 [email protected] Dear Pin I know you love the airforce. Alright, I will not ask again. Please keep safe. I will return to Singapore soon. The weather here is great. The squirrels are at it again, fighting over nuts. The trees are beginning to bud and small green leafs are unfolding. Each day is like magic. I am enjoying the lobster noodle at Mandarin Kitchen. Two days ago, I witnessed a fight between an Arab and a Northern Indian. It was just too funny. What if they had guns at that time? A shooting? And over what? A car park lot! People are crazy. Life is crazy. Sometimes, I think I am going crazy too. Love, Sam The

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2 April 1998 [email protected] Dearest Samantha Thank you darling for understanding. I cannot leave the airforce. Flying defines me. It is all I want to do with my life. If I have one breath left, it would be flying. Of course, if I have one breath left, I would want to kiss you. Haha ;) How difficult a choice. My aircraft or your lips? Hmmm. Joke. Come home soon. I will be there when you return. Taiwan is getting mundane. I miss meepok and Maxwell market with those women and their funny tee-shirts that make you laugh. Can’t wait to hold you and feel you in my arms. You are my life. You are mine. Love, Pin p/s: Leaving for Singapore tomorrow. My mother misses me like I miss you. Samantha read this last e-mail with a sign of resignation. So that is that. She shut down her notebook, pushed it away. She needed her walk in the park. The air will clear her head. Chee Pin. David. Mother. Father. It was all too much. Maybe tonight she will write to David. He did not reply her last e-mail. She wondered at that. Was he rude or disciplined? Which?

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Two weeks whizzed past. Walks, catching up with friends, shopping at Bond Street, watching two musicals, hobnobbing with the stall-owners at Bayswater market, going to galleries, doing high tea with Lady Sandra at the Intercontinental Hotel in Mayfair. Did she want to go home? E-mails from Chee Pin have been daily. He was good that way. For a pilot he seemed to enjoy writing to her. For a pilot, he was unusually literate and verbal on e-mail. She had less to say. So she kept her conversation to details of her days, recounting meetings and special buys, and describing the trees in place of the weather. She really needed to sort out what she wanted. David may be right. Chee Pin may not be that love of her life. Chee Pin was who she wanted now but may not be that one love. How will she know? What is she to do? She felt more confused as the days passed. Walking in the parks looking at lovers, young and old, did not help. She wondered at the old ones as they walked silently and carefully, hunched with their walking sticks, looking so blissfully happy together, after a lifetime of misunderstanding to achieve that quiet understanding. She wondered at the young with their display of obvious passion, kissing long kisses under the trees, at the bus-

stops, at the cafés, in theatre queues, while seated on park benches … everywhere. The English seem to be kissing everywhere and all the time, unusual for a people who are supposedly reserved. And they really kissed, almost as though they were sucking the life out of their partners the way they go at it sometimes, she thought. The 1960s sexual revolution and the Beatles changed the social face of England. No one bothers with the public display of affection, much like topless sunbathing on Bondi beach—only tourists would take the second look. Societies can change. It just takes the right catalyst. The sociology major in Sam was speaking. Sam’s confusion had deepened as the days passed. Twirling the Tiffany ring on her finger did not help at all. Nothing seemed to help. Her mind was clouded. 17 April 1998 [email protected] Dear Pin I am staying on in London. Another month or two perhaps. Something came up. I might be taking a trip through Europe. Will be difficult to write from there. I thought I should visit a few of my friends before I return. If you like, you can join me here. If not, I shall definitely see you in June. Love, Sam.

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18 April 1998 [email protected] Darling Samantha Yes, go. See Europe again. So many times, my darling, but perhaps this time, you can find some good art deals. Have you asked your father for the money to start your gallery? I can see it now. Samantha Ng’s ‘A Touch of Class and Beyond’. Come home when you are ready. I will be waiting. I have waited all these years, darling. Another two months is nothing. I have a lot of work at the airbase. They intend to promote me next round. I must make the grade. After that, I will be posted to Gombak for a while. Gombak should be good. Place to meet the right people. Chief of Air Force is there. I may be working for him. Someone said that there is a special project to evaluate a new aircraft and with my degree, I can support the work there. Also they are looking for new test pilots. I might give that a go. It is a job for the Top Guns of the SAF. You need to have super reflexes. Super. I have that. I will make it. I will make you and Ma proud. You shall see. Tan Chee Pin is Top Gun. Watch the movie again darling. It captures what pilots are made of. Tom Cruise did a great job. Love, Pin

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Sam thought it not worth replying to. She preferred the solitude. She had already watched Top Gun five times, four times with Chee Pin. Only thrice less than Phantom of the Opera which music she adored, as though there were any comparison between Sir Andrew and Tom Cruise. But she had wanted to, back then. She wanted to identify with Chee Pin so she would have watched Top Gun another seven times, if necessary, to understand Chee Pin’s passion. Now, Top Gun with the very overly confident Tom Cruise and its total predictability bored her. Sure it showed the tensions, the emotions and the power of flight. But that was not her cup of tea. Not anymore. Samantha did not go to Europe. She just did not want to write anymore. Not to Chee Pin anyway. 23 April 1998 [email protected] Dear David You did not reply. I trust things are fine. I am still in London. You have confused me. I thought I knew. I don’t. Your ring is here. I hold it sometimes and wonder what you mean with it. It is a good choice, Peretti. Father says the deal is going well. The banks seem to be all forgiving and encouraging. Mother wanted to visit but I said ‘No’. Will you be in London anytime soon? Can we talk? Sincerely, Samantha

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24 April 1998 [email protected] Dear Miss Ng I am Diana, Mr Chang’s PA. I apologise for reading your e-mail but all e-mails come through to me. Mr Chang is in London. I will inform him of your e-mail. He said to do so should you write. Please expect his call. I took the liberty of getting your number from your father. Sincerely, Diana Musa (Miss) He’s here? He’s in London? Strange feeling. But nice. He’s nearby. If I see him again, I may be clearer about what I need to do. Perhaps he has answers for me now instead of questions that upset all the truths I know about life. He owes me that much. Samantha waited for the call. Her handphone was silent for two days. Not a beep. Not an SMS. She was crestfallen. How can this man not call? I want to see him and talk to him. It was a proposal. No matter how weird the terms, it was a proposal. Nottinghill was lovely and bright as she zipped into the shops to pick up some Packham pears. Yummy. She loved them. Especially the ever so slightly fermented ones. A cool breeze took her waist length hair, playing it. Brushing it off her face, she saw a Bentley pulling up next to her and observed it. It was silver. Good paintwork.

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The dark glass window of the left backseat glided downwards. A head emerged from the dark interior. It was David. “Get in. Let’s have lunch.” Startled, Samantha got into the car. The man is an enigma. How did he find her? She sat next to him. The chauffeur tipped her hat to acknowledge Samantha—a blonde chauffeur with large eyes and big breasts. What next? It feels like Alice in Wonderland every time David was around. How did he find her? “Charlotte here has been tailing you since you arrived in London. Your mother asked for help. She did not want you to do something rash given the circumstances,” David said very quietly. Charlotte, the chauffeur just in front of them would have had to strain her ears to hear David’s voice at this volume. Amazing voice control, Sam thought. She could be angry at her loss of privacy but she decided it would not be useful. She needed to be calm to think. She probably has an hour with him so she had better get her questions answered. So many things were hanging in the air. Most of Chee Pin’s endless e-mails have been left unanswered in her own uncertainty about David. She read them but left them be. She was too tired to talk about trees and squirrels, Arabs and Northern Indians, and disgruntled stall-keepers. After the fifth description of her walks in the parks and make-believe stories about the people she saw, it was worse than tiring. The things that mattered to her, she could not tell Chee Pin. They lived in the same house, grew up together, but their worlds

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were too far apart. Her handbags alone would take off half his monthly pay as a RSAF lieutenant. How could he understand? How could she expect him to understand? Samantha wondered where David would go to for lunch. That tiny Indian restaurant where reservations had to be made five months in advance or, the Chinese Imperial Palace where the waiters only admitted those who had pre-tipped them for a table. Which? The car was beautifully silent as they traveled through London roads. Charlotte seemed to know where to head towards. Soon she was turning into the Royal Garden Hotel near Kensington Gardens. David got out. Held his hand out for her. She took it. A self-made man with the manners of the elite. Interesting. He said, “Hold on here for a minute.” He walked over to the concierge. They handed him a brown paper bag. Samantha’s imagination was fertile, if anything. My goodness, my possible future husband is a drug peddler, she laughed to herself. He strode back. Still the same easy way. Light wool blazer this time—dark blue with beautiful crested buttons, gray cashmere vest, striped cotton oxford shirt and open neck. Not all bundled up like some Singaporeans visiting London in early spring, unused to the slightly chilly air that holds a hint of the warmer days to come. Not at all. David looked quite at home in London, even more at home that her friends did for all their years in school here. “Lunch,” he said eyeing the brown paper bag, “Let’s walk.”

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With his other hand, David held Samantha lightly under her elbow as he guided her out of the hotel and through the driveway. They had turned into Kensington Gardens. So this was lunch. A bag of something and a walk in the park. Samantha clung on to her Packham pears. Lunch, she thought. I would be completely unsurprised if this man whips something like tiger’s penis out that bag. He is so unpredictable, this David. And look how he walks. Just the right pace. Not too fast nor in a hurry, but yet, so briskly and with such great style. How does he achieve such an effect? Samantha walked alongside. There was nothing else to do. She needed to talk. And this man held some answers, maybe. Maybe. An unknown lunch in a brown bag in Kensington Gardens. Her second date with her proposer. How funny. In silence they walked. It was not an uncomfortable silence. Not the kind between two persons searching for words to start the next sentence. On his part, there was hardly any need to speak, not yet. On her part, she was too busy observing this man who had proposed to her a month or so ago. She hardly knew him but she felt like she somehow did. It was strange. Suddenly, David stopped. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the bench. Motioned to her. She sat. So too he. From where they were, Kensington Gardens was beautiful. The round, man-made gardens was quiet on the weekday. Leaves were fluttering in the wind. The trees seemed to sway slightly. It was spring. London can

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be so very beautiful in spite of the pollution. Kensington Gardens was right next to Hyde Park and was, in fact, once a part of it. If they had walked from Bayswater, they would have landed here. Perhaps half an hour or slightly more if they took a leisurely pace. David reached into the brown bag and pulled out a sandwich. Oh, no tiger penis, Sam thought, almost disappointed. She smiled. David caught the smile and decided to let it pass. Obviously something had amused this lass. Perhaps something about him amused her, he reflected, amused himself. He passed the egg and tomato sandwich over to her. How unpredictable, she thought staring at the totally predictable egg and tomato stack in her hand. “The hotel makes a good sandwich and I come here each time I am in London. I love this park. Something about the trees here makes me feel that I can live forever. Some of them are more than 100 years old, did you know?” Sam nodded. Of course she knew. Some were possibly even more 200 years old. Kensington Gardens was built in 1689. This park, her park from the Bayswater entrance, same thing. London was not London to her without the parks. The rest of London was just peripheral to the parks in her mind. It was the parks that defined London and held centre stage. Strange for a young woman to feel that way but she did. Others her age might be more interested in lining up for the dance floor at the newest trendiest club in London. David pointed to a tree. It was one of those very tall ones. Sam did not know the name. More than 40 feet at

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least. No branches. It just went straight up all the way and was crowned by some very green leaves right on top,. “I was here one spring. Frieda had just passed away then. I did not want to go on. The children were in their early teens. I could find no meaning in life. Frieda was always the reason for me to keep going, to keep getting. The reason for success. To make her proud of me and her choice in marrying me. That was gone. The children were not reason enough. The business meant more work but success has little meaning without purpose. I wondered then what life was about.” Sam wondered why this man was telling her all this. She really hardly knew him and here he was sharing his intimacies with her again as though she should know, as though she must know and must understand. Why her? She felt flattered in a way but afraid at the same time. David was not as predictable as she would have liked him to be. Any other man of the world would have taken an attractive woman to lunch, wooed her, bedded her and that would be that, so Sam thought, what was this about? She pulled on her lime-green cashmere sweater to button up. It was getting a bit chilly. The egg and tomato was fine but she needed a hot drink. As though reading her mind, David said, “Charlotte will bring the hot chocolate. She gets that from the deli across the road. She knows where to find us.” He then continued, “That tree had just been struck by lightning that year. It was all burnt on top and almost split down the middle. It looked like there was no life left. None at all. I sat here staring at it. My life felt like that. Burnt out. Struck by a force beyond my control. Frieda

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had cancer. Nothing could help. After so much pain, she was gone. It was the unlucky happenchance of life.” He paused. Looked away to the pond where children were riding their tiny tricycles. A jogger went past in front of them, blocking their view of a moment. Pum-pumpum, her Nike shoes went. Pum-pum-pum. Gosh, she looks fit, Samantha’s mind wandered. “That whole afternoon, I sat lost in my own world. Then I saw something I have never forgotten since. Something simple and true. The tree had the tiniest shoot emerging from its bark. Just the tiniest green shoot with a few curled leaves. The tree was so burnt on the top and there was nothing left on it that anyone could see, but there right on top, high up on the trunks, a few green shoots. The tree had refused to die. I don’t know if there is a God, but if there was one, then He chose to speak to me that afternoon by showing me those green shoots. In that moment, I knew that life was precious. That it was worth fighting for. No matter how bleak things look, we need to go on because life is precious.” He stopped talking. Took a bite of the sandwich. Charlotte brought the flask of hot chocolate and some muffins. She walked off in her cool gray uniform. It is interesting to see a blonde, long haired chauffeur with big breasts, Samantha thought. Anyone would think at first glance it is a mask for some naughties but she cannot imagine that a woman chauffeur would be ideal for men to ferry women to and fro as playthings. It would just be too wacky, she thought. Or, perhaps David planned well, in some Machiavellian super control freak kind of way. Perhaps Charlotte is

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exactly what he wants to project. It proves that David Chang does not fool around with women no matter how attractive and how bosomy they were. My goodness, look at Charlotte as she walks away. She looks like the perfect hourglass from behind. That firm round buttock is to die for, and that hair looks like it has just walked off a Proctor and Gamble TV commercial for shampoo. Beautiful, shiny, healthy hair that shone as she walked away. Samantha stopped staring at Charlotte and turned to David. “She is quite something, isn’t she?” David said. Sam nodded. “Charlotte applied for a job and I saw no reason to discriminate against her for her gender or her looks. Do you?” Samantha was ashamed. She had stereotyped Charlotte. She typecasted her own kind, her own gender, by thinking such thoughts. It was exactly such thoughts that stopped the progress of women all around the world. To David, Charlotte was just a hire. He might even be attracted to her but it was of no consequence. He could be attracted to half the women in London, New York or Singapore, but his restraint was amazing and his ability to see through things with clarity quite stunning really. She shook her head. “Tell me, what do you really think of your own proposal to me? Would you want your daughter to accept such a proposal from someone like yourself ?” David looked taken aback for only half a second. “Samantha, I am not your father. I would have never asked for such a deal to be made. Your father has his

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reasons. And I have mine. You must find yours to accept the deal. If you know what your terms are, then we can talk. Love may come, maybe. But it may well be that we find something beyond love. I do not believe I can love another woman like I did my Frieda and I have never promised any woman otherwise.” A look came into David’s eyes as he remembered Ling Ling in Shanghai. She was currently four months pregnant with his child. He should do the right thing by Ling Ling and marry her. But how can he when he did not love her the way she wanted? Then Ng came along with this deal and this outlandish proposal. Then he met Samantha and thought that perhaps it was not so outlandish after all. The proposal had its merits, crazy as it sounded. Sitting here with Ng’s daughter, he knew that he wanted the best for his company and for Samantha. That was all there was to it. It was the truth, so help him God. He would keep his part of the deal. She would have to keep hers. In three years, if she divorced him, she would be rich. Not as much as what the Ngs had before the crisis but she would not be poor. And he would be connected to the right people for the next phase of growth for his company. Her father would be happy, her mother would have some happiness for a few years thinking that Samantha married well and her dancing days are not over, and he David would run the single largest company in diversified businesses in Asia. Think of the good he can do. More than a 100,000 people would be employed. He thought of Ratan Tata and how Ratan Tata changed the lives of

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thousands in India through employment. If he could be a Ratan Tata in Southeast Asia, that would be meaningful. Yes, it would. He knew that he, David, was no saint. Few business people can be. Business however provided livelihoods though jobs and held the keys to progress and sustainability. Is that sainthood? It took the right human resource policies to ensure fairness, and an iron will when it comes to protecting the environment. Is that sainthood? Whatever it was, this was his life’s work. Frieda’s death made it so clear to him. He had to go on. Make his work larger than just Frieda and himself. Use his work to serve. It all sounds so idealistic. David did not think like that on the majority of days. Business moves along with a life of its own and holds little time for philosophers, but when he had to question the ‘whys’, the answer from within him would be that his work had to be larger than himself and had to be about others, although making a lot of money for himself was also a part of the success equation. The silence between them this time was uncomfortable. Samantha knew that David’s mind was elsewhere. He is right though. My answer is not with him. He had told me much about himself. Perhaps sharing this tree with me, talking to me at the Equinox, perhaps this is all he can give of himself to me now, money aside. But what sort of marriage would this be, without love and sex? Without Chee Pin, without love and without sex, what sort of marriage would this be? David took her hand. “You need not be afraid. I will look after you. The three years will pass. You will have

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your freedom and money. I cannot share the bed with another as long as you are my wife. It creates gossip. You can however continue to love another; no one can stop that. Just no more meetings and no interludes. Not for three years. If his love lasts, he will be there. If your love lasts, you will know. If not, it was just never meant to be. Why don’t you just tell him so, if he can be trusted to understand?” “He will never understand. He comes from a simple world. Marriage is marriage. Love is love. Happiness is happiness. Not this convoluted game my parents and you play.” Sam bit her tongue at the last few words. She realized she was wrong. David was not playing a game with her. He was real. The events seemed crazy and the proposal was unusual, but this man was real. He must have his reasons. He will never force himself on me. He can probably have any woman. But he chooses no one. Not even me, not even in this proposed marriage. He must have a relationship somewhere or he must be in some spiritual practice. Otherwise, how would he contain his sexual energy? It would be impossible. However, Samantha knew better than to probe. It was not necessary to do so since she was not interested in him sexually anyway. Whatever the case, David would not let sex intrude into their lives together, she was sure. He had made that abundantly clear. “Did you talk to him?” David asked. “Not in so many words.” “Ah, you tested him, and he failed,” he noted.

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“Yes. He did. I would give everything up for him and I might even get used to a different kind of life. Flying however means everything to him.” Samantha said defeatedly. “Don’t be too harsh on him or yourself. If he was any less, the SAF would have made a mistake bringing him into the airforce. Don’t judge him. Accept him. Your question is about you, not him.” Again, that again. Sam got irritated with this Mr know-it-all who wants to be her husband. Oooh, it is about me. About me. About me. Not him—Chee Pin, not him—David, not him—my father, not her—my mad mother, it’s all about me, me, me, me, ME! Good Lord, he is a walking talking motivational coach with Queen’s diction. Mr Know-ItAll! Sam turned to look at him, meaning to give him a piece of her mind now for his assumptions about her. What she saw, however, was not an arrogant all assuming Mr Know-It-All. What she saw was a quiet man sitting there next to her at peace with the world, at peace with nature and the trees, munching an egg and tomato sandwich and drinking hot chocolate. This brilliant self made billionaire was just so at home and in his own skin. He was not showing off or needing to show off. He was just being himself, David. Sam sighed. Turned away. “I know,” she muttered. I know, she thought. Charlotte sent them back to Bayswater. As she was about to alight, he handed her an envelope. “The terms …

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drawn up by a firm in San Francisco. Read it. I have tried to do what is best for you in this contract. If this is fine, we need to plan the date. Your father wants an answer. I think it is good timing to announce the wedding at least one month before the merger is closed. I know I said three months to you, but already the newspapers are catching wind of this and we need to move it one way or another. The tabloids will have lots to say, the shareholders too. But we would have cleared the gossip by the time the deal is ready to be inked. Read the contract. Let me know in a week. We can still make the announcement end-May as agreed.” Sam was surprised. It did not strike her that David would have gone to this extent so rapidly. He must mean it. Yes, so she was some offering to this warlord, but he seemed to treat her well and respected her views. Warlords do not ask for the opinions of their offerings when they take them. They just take them. Oh, but he is not taking me, is he? He is just marrying me. I wonder why he does not want me. That in itself is unusual. Maybe he took a vow of celibacy. Haha. Maybe. Sam leaned over to David. This was the first time she placed herself into his personal space. Over the lunch and tea the last time, both had kept the distance, even when David leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “Kiss me,” she said. David looked mildly surprised. Probably some young girl’s fantasy, he thought. He did not ask questions or ponder the request. He reached out to her and held her. And kissed her. Not a quick kiss as one might for a first

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kiss. But a long deep kiss. Samantha certainly did not expect such a kiss but she did not pull away. She returned his pressure with even pressure. David’s hands around her tightened for a moment. She thought she felt his desire for her. In a moment, then it was gone. He had released her. He was very gentle. She was dazed. She got out of the car, a bit unsure of her feet. David brought the window down. Smiled at her. His eyes were warm. Charlotte stared straight ahead. It was none of her business. But this was the first time she had seen her boss with any form of passion for a woman. It was not her place to speak so she stared straight ahead at the row of doublestorey terraces in their legally mandated black and white look. Charlotte thought, in the last four years, Mr Chang had never, not once, made a move on her although his associates had. And he had never asked to visit anyone in London other than the few firms he did business with. She was surprised at his recent request to tail this young girl and now she had just witnessed his passion for her. She was surprised but nothing showed on her face. Not even the flicker of an eyelid. David spoke, “You take care. Read the document. And if you agree, sign it. We will make arrangements for the wedding. I will take care of you. The sex part—that is up to you. The love part—you already know. I can only give you what I can give you and nothing more or less. Please understand. If you choose to stay on, that is because you want to. If you choose to move on after three years, you will be looked after for the rest of your life. That is my commitment to you. I’ll see you back in Singapore either

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way you choose. Your father awaits an answer on some obscure clause in the other contract. I need to deal with that. This is a big commitment by both parties. We must make it work one way or another. I am sorry if you are confused. But you will figure it all out. And when you do, the answer will be clearer than day. It was always there all the time. You just have not realized it.” There he goes again, my motivation guru who holds my life for the next few years. But my goodness, the man can kiss, Sam thought. The car sped off. Charlotte the chauffeur is one of the best drivers in London, her gender notwithstanding. Sam turned the key to her door. Shoot, she left her Packham pears in his car. So much for dinner now.

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18

In her apartment, Sam tore open the brown envelope. It read, ‘Agreement In Contemplation of Divorce’. It was about 10 pages long with clear sections showing roles and responsibilities of both parties to the marriage, clear grounds for divorce and the division of matrimonial assets. It was not like the simpler versions she had seen her friends sign. Such documents usually do not contain roles and responsibilities, but here, very uncommonly, it listed very specifically what their separate and mutual conjugal rights were. The document also said something to the effect that both parties agree that the agreement shall be interpreted according to the laws in the United States of America. Sam realized then that David was serious. She walked around her cool and sunny apartment wondering. What did David have in mind for two Singaporeans to hold such an agreement to be tried under US laws should things go wrong? What if they were married in Singapore, would the agreement still hold? This was 1998 and neither the courts in Singapore or the UK seemed to show that they would uphold such agreements. Signing such an agreement under Singaporean law held no meaning. But two Singaporeans

signing something like that under US law, I suppose that was about as strong as David can make it. If she contested for her rights under Singaporen law as a Singapore citizen, what would happen? Reading the agreement, she realized that David had been fair. He was protecting his children from the first marriage and also protecting her in case of divorce due to non-consummation of the marriage. She would be paid US$10 million for three years of marriage. She would then be compensated progressively from year to year for every year of marriage until she owned half of what David owned by their 10th year of marriage. Either party could pull out at any time but clearly if she pulled out later, David stood to lose more. For David to gain, the marriage had to open more doors for him and make more for him than what he had to lose. The terms were not unfair towards her and showed David's confidence in leveraging their marriage to make money. The uncommon part of the agreement laid out that non-consummation would not form grounds for divorce by either party given the understanding both parties had of the existing conditions between them at the point of marriage. It did not name what existing conditions. Samantha laughed. The lawyers drafting this must think she was the ugliest hag in town and that poor Mr Chang was terrified of being forced into bed with yellowbuck-teeth Samantha with a pimpled bulbous nose. They probably think her hairless on her head and hairy on her legs. She could imagine their picture of her. Poor Mr Chang. Forced to marry Snow White’s ugly, wicked crone with a poison apple in her hand.

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Only I don’t have any poison apples, she thought woefully. The rest of the document looked fine. Samantha will get her own lawyers to look through it but she doubts there would be any nasty surprises. Picking up her Nokia, she typed. David, it looks fine. I will get my lawyers to look through. Should not be an issue, I think. I owe you two answers—the documents and my decision. I know time is against me. Next week. Thanks. —Samantha. She sent the message. Then she texted again. BTW, thanks for lunch. It was not unpleasant. I enjoyed the park. David Chang texted back. Ok. Leaving for Singapore soon. Heathrow will be crowded. See you.

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19

Despite texting David, and even after her lawyers had returned to say that the pre-nup was as good as any that two Singaporeans can sign to protect themselves in marriage, Sam was unsure. You cannot expect a single kiss to change a woman, can you? One thing she did realize though was that perhaps she did not love Chee Pin as much as she had thought before she met David. How much of that had to do with her disappointment that Chee Pin was not her knight in shining armor—ready to denounce state, country and family to win her fair hand—she had no idea. But clearly, she now knew that even if Chee Pin was her knight in shining armor, she would have to get used to the fact that Tan Chee Pin’s first love would always be for his trusty steed, the aircraft, and life would always be about flying that ‘trusty steed’ into glowing sunsets over the South China Sea. Her job, if she were any princess at all, was clearly to wave them off ‘goodbye’ as they flew into that sunset. And she would always have to wait for her knight to return from battles, and these battles would be never ending, full of dare-devil maneuvers and death-drops with last minute pull-backs.

She felt a bit bitter. She would never be first to Chee Pin, despite what he says. Maybe she would never be first to anyone. Those wretched fairy tales they told you in kindergarten, someone should burn them. Cinderella probably got burnt to death waiting to be rescued from the cinders because her prince was too busy jumping thick bushy hedges showing off how strong his horse was to wide-eyed villagers. And as for Rapunzel, the only reason why her hair was long enough in the first place was because her lousy prince was too busy being in training to ride the right horse out of the stable to look for her. They should ban fairy tales. They are so impractical for the modern day person. Prince? Humbug!

Sam flew home the first week of May. She knew she owed David an answer within the month. She was still no clearer. She had okayed the pre-nuptial within the few days after David left. She then stayed on in London for a week, going up to Cambridge for a few days to see if her answer was there. It wasn’t. Much as she loved her college and much as this had been a part of her life and made up a part of who she was, the college and university town were gravely silent. She decided to fly home to Singapore. Home. She had been away from Singapore for close to two months. Back at Ng’s mansion, the maids were busy clearing away things preparing for the big day. Everyone expected her to marry David. No one knew that the decision was still unmade in her mind. Her mother was busy preparing guest lists as

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though David had agreed to some large debutante ball and she, Pamela—and not Samantha—was the belle. David told them explicitly not to talk about it in public as he needed the mind space to work on the deal itself. The deal and not the marriage, Sam noted to herself. So her mother had no one to discuss minutial with except Sam and the servants. Father seemed to be completely careless about her mother’s ongoings, so focused was he on getting the deal done. The hustling and bustling of Pamela Ng was everything Sam disliked about her mother. Why can’t her mother just let things be? Sam took her walks at the Botanical Gardens now. Originally located at Fort Canning and founded by Sir Stamford Raffles in 1822, the current gardens in Bukit Timah probably did more for the property prices in the vicinity that most Singaporeans are aware. The current site with its huge cast iron gate from Holland Road and the large tract of land in land-scarce Singapore was founded by the Agri-Horticultural Society in 1829, not too different from Kensington Gardens. Perhaps some of the trees here were planted by the same Kew Gardens botanists, Sam thought. The English did so love their Gardens, and we are lucky they left us such heritage. Singaporeans forget, walking around in their Sunday shorts and big-word tees, that there is so much of the English in us, she laughed. And even more so in me, I guess. Instead of the Round Pond, there was the Lotus Pond. There were more gazebos and shelters here than in London. Singapore is hot or wet. Gazebos were necessary in any open public place in Singapore.

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If more people figured how beautiful this compact island was, they too might figure out that this was a good place to live. People like her Father and David can be anywhere in the world but they did choose to live here. Chee Pin, of course, will never leave. Be it the meepok, the F-5s or the RSAF, he is Singaporean through and through. She walked almost every morning in her Nikes and tennis skirts. But unlike in London, she did not sit on the benches to contemplate her life. Singapore was different, so you would do different things to appreciate it. She took her breakfast at the Taman Serasi food court, buying a cuppa kopi oh, half-boiled eggs and her roti kaya, toasted bread with a coconut jam spread, and she watched people go by as she ate her breakfast. Perhaps if Samantha held a job, this time would not be hers. She would have joined the corporate chase, to climb, to ascend. But she lived a life so different from others. She was born into privilege. She knew that. Once, attending a talk at college, a visiting Harvard professor had stopped her short in her presentation and analysis of a case. Somewhere, she had said, “But we are the same … ” The professor pounced on her statement and said, “Miss Ng, I beg to differ. People are not the same. You, Miss Ng, by virtue of upbringing, breeding and education most certainly are not the same as the women in this case study. You, Miss Ng, are born into privilege. The fact that you are here, in Cambridge, breathing this air at this noble place of learning, that separates you. That will define you and perhaps you it, or not. Make up your mind which and you will know how to live.”

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She was upset that morning when the professor confronted her that way in class. Every one went silent. She was surprised at how strongly he pushed his point across. He was right though—she was the privileged class. Watching the uncle serve her the aromatic cup of kopi oh, she knew her life to be different. The question now was what she wanted to make of it. Right now, two paths were opened. On one hand, a life with David which she can choose to exit later if she cannot take it. She would have some money of her own from the pre-nuptial, and on the other, a life with Chee Pin. Chee Pin who still had no idea that she has returned from Europe as she pretended to be away still, taking some time to think things through herself. A life with Chee Pin would not be a bad life as he was in a good profession. If she could work in Sotherby’s and he went with her, she could have been happy. If not, she would always wonder what she gave up for him when he could not do the same for her. Somewhere sometime this will come up in their lives together and it will pull them apart. Then there was that matter of David’s kiss. He really did kiss her. She was seated there thinking these thoughts when Aunt Rosalind walked up. “Samantha! I didn’t think you frequented the gardens. How are you?” Aunt Rosalind was her mother’s best friend from school. Full of common sense and practical wisdom, Aunt Rosalind was miles different from her mother. Some days, Sam thinks she can talk to this woman forever just learning from her wisdom.

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Rosalind sat across from her without invitation as there was no need for one. Samantha was like her own child in some ways, she was so very fond of her. She wished her once best friend would give Samantha better advice than just how to entrap a rich husband or how to be the next best socialite, a queen of sorts, in Singapore. Rosalind was a self-made woman. Inner strength shone from her face through the wrinkled lines caused by immense stress. Widowed, she raised her four children single-handedly without the need for a man. Samantha said, “Auntie Ros, I am really in a fix. I have an important decision to make. But I cannot decide.” So Samantha explained her situation to the older woman, leaving out the information on Pewajaran and the proposed merger. In fact, Samantha focused only on her feelings related to the two men and the choices they represent to her. The lifestyles ahead and what that all meant. Rosalind, knowing the battle raging inside Samantha, accepted that somehow there was a deadline to this decision. She thought the deadline pertained to a marriage proposal by Chee Pin giving her an ultimatum. Rosalind asked, “Sam, what would you choose if you followed your heart?” Sam looked up from her breakfast to this aunt who was not quite her aunt but was one of her favorites amongst her parents’ circles of friends. “I have no idea, Aunt Ros. I don’t know where my heart is.” Rosalind said, “If you were really all that passionate about CP, you would not care if he did not give up his

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lifestyle for you. You would just mold into his. I think that would be true.” Samantha had used code names for David and Chee Pin, calling them DC and CP to Aunt Rosalind. Sam halfnodded at her aunt’s reasoning. Rosalind went on, “If you have absolutely no heart after this DC person, you would not have such feelings either for him. In fact, you would possibly have slapped him after that kiss for taking such liberty.” Sam nodded again nearly ashamed that she had been so brazen as to ask David for a kiss, and now, for telling this older woman about it. “Now tell me, how would you choose if you have to choose with your head? This is not an easy question, so slow down and think.” Sam knew what she meant. The head had a way of playing tricks with thoughts, enabling a person to justify things on both sides of the coin until one was thoroughly confused about decisions, choices and life. Sam said slowly, “I think if I have to choose with my head, I would choose Pewajaran. Not the men. I would choose Pewajaran.” Rosalind smiled at her. “So, my dear, that is your answer for now. You are not able to cut through your emotions when it comes to the men. One is known, the other unknown. The known has elements you don’t want so you are not quite choosing it. The unknown, you are not choosing because you do not trust what you feel as you have little basis to believe for now.” Rosalind continued, “Pewajaran, however, is different. Your emotions, your thoughts towards it are clear. It

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is what your family has built, what your grandfather created, what your father expanded, and what your mother supported despite her character and her ways. Pewajaran is perhaps your answer then. Forget about the men, dear girl. Go ask your father for a job and work from there. Never mind their deadlines. These men in love can give ultimatums but you do not need to take them. There will be other men. Other opportunities. At this juncture, focus on your career and build that. Pewajaran is in your blood. You answered without hesitation once I switched the question.” Rosalind was feeling rather pleased with herself for helping her young friend. Of course, Samantha had to focus on her career instead of marriage. Of course. Look at herself, Rosalind. If she was as wishy-washy about life as Samantha was at her age, her four children would have starved when Patrick died. Instead, Rosalind just pressed on with life and work. And today, she was the CEO of the largest financial services company in Singapore. Follow your head. Build a career. Forget about men if you cannot be clear. When you do become clear, then fine. Marriage can be good too if it was with the right person. The problem was that there are few ‘right’ persons. Rosalind said ‘goodbye’ and got up to leave. Samantha found clarity in what Aunt Rosalind had said. She was right. Pewajaran was what she cared about. It was not even about the lifestyle alone since that was just the by-product of building a great company. Her father was trying to tell her this with the marriage to David. He would have never acceded to any form of coercion on his daughter when it comes to marriage. Only where it

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pertains to this as it ran in her blood, her father’s blood and grandpa’s blood. This was now so clear. She had to choose Pewajaran and take what comes with that. If it happens to be David, so be it. She will choose David then. She already knew that Chee Pin will never be able to understand this decision. She already knew that the gulf between she and her childhood sweetheart, now recent lover, had just widened beyond immediate reconciliation. Chee Pin would not fight for Pewajaran because he is too busy fighting for truth, honor and justice in his aircraft. She however did not understand any of those terms without the backdrop of her father’s company, which has given her all that she knew since birth. Samantha rushed home. Picked up some creamcolored Conqueror paper from her writing desk and took out a broad nibbed black pen. She wrote: 20 May 1998 Chee Pin, I’m getting married. Someone I met. Sorry. I’ve changed. Samantha She folded that. Put that in an envelope. Wrote his address. Block 42X. Ang Mo Kio Ave 10.

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He lived there with his mother, she knew, having been there thrice. She stared at the envelope. With this she seals the next part of her life. There was nothing to explain to Chee Pin and talking about things would expose the companies. She thought, to what avail if it did not bring him closer to me, and in the end he would still choose flying and I will have to choose Pewajaran. And because I choose Pewajaran, I must now choose David. I must now choose David, she repeated mentally. She then texted David. David. I have decided. Sorry I took so long. I choose Pewajaran. I therefore choose you. Please arrange for the deeds to be signed. I will marry you. Please let me know what to do next. —Samantha Ng Shuet Fen This was the first time she wrote out her Chinese name that way to anyone. The first. But this was her coming of age, her first awakening to herself and her place in life. She was her father’s daughter and she had just realized what was important to her. There were things here that were larger than the word ‘love’. Perhaps one day, she will find ‘love’ again. Perhaps one day, she will find that one love of her life. She hoped so. But for now, she will focus on her wedding with this puzzle of a man who will become her husband. This self-assured man who somehow must have known that this is what she would choose. She looked at the letter to Chee Pin. She will send it off to him on the night before the wedding. She could not

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risk him appearing to change things now that her mind was fixed. Deet Deet Deet Deet, her phone sounded. Good. L&L Solicitors. Be at their office tomorrow afternoon 3:00 pm. Come alone. She texted back. Okay. I will be there. Alone. Deet Deet Deet Deet We leave for SF on Friday. I will sign off merger papers on Thursday. Pack. There he goes again, she thought. The surprise man. Getting used to it by now. She texted back. Why SF? Deet Deet Deet Deet Pre-Nup under Californian law. Wedding will be there. Small. Quiet. Trust me. All okay. I will take care of you. Oh sure. “He thinks of everything,” she muttered quietly to herself. She quickly texted. Ok. See you tomorrow.

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No response. He must be busy. Tomorrow, she is signing a pre-nup with a man she has met for a total of three times. She can tell no one about it. She can only just get it done. If the marriage lasts, Pewajaran was hers and David’s. If it didn’t, she is no worse off than today. What man can possibly come along later in my life who can be of any interest, in comparison to Pewajaran as my prize in 10 years time? What man? With that thought, Samantha decided to go to bed early that night. She might as well get used to sleeping alone from now on. If this is the price, she might as well start paying for it now. Perhaps one day, a prince will come find her. One day perhaps. For today, she had just made a big decision. Not all is clear but she accepts that it is the right thing to do. Her gut feeling told her it was right. She had to do it. For the first time since David came into her life, Samantha's last thought as she went to bed was not about Chee Pin nor David, but about how she needed to take Pewajaran back from David Chang in due course. She will find a way. If this marriage did not go through, Pewajaran would be lost to her family. They would be diluted to a minority stake after making good to the banks. Now, at least for now, the Ngs will continue to have a hold on the company’s future. Much as Sam disliked it, her mother was right. Sam knew that her decision to choose David had just bought her time to figure out the company, David and her role in the future.

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20

It was the end of May and the weather in California was gorgeous. Sam could feel the warmer sun on her toned body. Somehow the Californian sun felt different from London or Singapore. No exact reason, it was just different. More blue, more true, more free. What was it about San Francisco? It was nice. Not like London which she loved deeply—San Francisco was different but nice, she thought again. David was driving this time. No American Charlotte came to pick them up. No personal car. Only a lovely deep metallic silver Mercedes, which he rented from Avis, awaited them at the Westin St. Francis at Union Square. David had asked her to trust him and she did. After all, she was about to marry this complete stranger on the strength of an agreement to please her parents and to move forward with that life. The arrangement was not insensible when rationalized. But the lack of love was. Inside her, there was a part of her that still tingled at the memory of David’s kiss outside her apartment in London. They had flown in First Class aboard Singapore Airlines. The agreements were signed and locked away. This was to be the day. Her marriage to David. Come tomorrow, she would be Mrs Samantha Chang.

She wondered at this, how one can be a ‘Miss’ one day and a ‘Mrs’ the next. Why was it the title ‘Mr’ never changed for the men. That made no sense. Who devised these titles and perpetuated such prejudiced societal norms? Why don’t they show the marital status of men through their titles? It was really unfair the way society structured such simple everyday things. It is no wonder most extramarital affairs were initiated by men. How could any ‘Mrs’ become involved in one night stands when all and sundry knew instantly that she was married from her title? That is not quite right. In a fairer world, both the men and the women should change their titles upon marriage. Since a ‘Miss’ becomes a ‘Mrs’, ‘Mr’ should become something too—but exactly what, she could not innovate that day; the sun was too beautiful and her gifted, sociology-trained imagination was on vacation. David smiled as he drove. Music was playing softly in the background. Light jazz. He seemed happy enough. Such a big decision and Mr David Chang seemed on top of the world, as though he had forgotten about the 100 page agreement he had signed three days ago and left with his lawyers in Singapore. That agreement secured the merger of the two companies. Chang Empire Holdings was now merged with Pewajaran Holdings which held several listed entities on the Indonesian, Singaporean and Thai stock exchanges. Chang Empire Holdings, the parent company of Chang Empire Ltd listed on the Singapore main board and a main composite stock of the Straits Times Index, had just swelled to nearly twice its previous size. Rationalization

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of the listed entities may follow later, he knows. But for now, he was happy. He had concluded a super positive deal. Samantha’s father, Ng, was very happy. Her mother, Pamela, almost kissed David’s hand subserviently when they met for dinner the night before Sam and he were due to fly off. Sam was quiet, feeling like she was merely the seal on the agreement that bound her life to this man for the next few years—totally required but not of absolute consequence in the final analysis. Going back on her word now would bring dishonor and it was no longer just about her, a little rich girl’s willful thinking and tantrums, but the words of men and women exchanged to bring two families together, and jointly grow one of the largest companies in Southeast Asia, and then eventually, the whole of Asia. Reaching out to her as the car sped along, David touched her knee lightly. He patted it. It was a strange gesture and one that would repeat itself many times in their soon-to-be-married lives. Just that lightest pat pat, on the knee. Samantha liked that pat pat on her knee. Perhaps not something her boyfriends would have done. Not Chee Pin. Pat pat was nice. David’s hands were always nice and warm. And it felt comforting to be appreciated that way. She broke the ice saying, “So now, may I ask where we are going?” Laughing at her indignation, David replied, “Tahoe.” Samantha gasped. What a totally non-predictable man! She could never have guessed. Tahoe? She had

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wondered if David intended them to be married at the Westin St. Francis itself with a restricted guest list that she was not privy to. This man seemed to arrange everything and all she had to do was to show up and play her role on cue. The car ate up the miles on the road. Sam thought, this was the US. No one used kilometers here. The US is full of paradoxes. For a country with such advanced systems and research, it is old fashioned in some ways. Miles, instead of kilometers, for one. Trying hard to stay awake, Sam could not help but fall asleep with that warm Californian sun streaming down on her face. Her last conscious thought was that David whistled well. He really did, this to-be-husband of hers. He whistled well. She could not recognize the song, but at least it had a tune and was melodious. Arriving at the most quaint of all chapels at Tahoe, David tapped her on the shoulder very lightly. “Get up, Sleepyhead. We’re here.” He got out of the car, walked across to where she was and opened the door for her. Fifteen little girls were standing all lined up, their hair done in ringlet curls and tiny white flowers. They were all dressed in short white lacy frocks and wore Mary Janes with frilly socks. Big baby-blue satin bows were tied around their waists. There were pink rose petals scattered all over the driveway. It could not be better if she had planned it herself. The chapel had frilly curtains and a big sign that said ‘Chapel’. A smaller sign said, ‘Weddings. Immediate. Please ring bell. Here.’ Underneath the word here was a drawing of a large yellow hand with an extended forefinger

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pointing to where the bell was. A tiny green little button stuck to the cobalt blue doorpost. Samantha smiled. There, he did it again. This enigma she would soon call ‘husband’. How on earth did he do it? He walked alongside her. In casual jeans, he looked young. That cream colored polo-neck with herringbone stitching gave him that classic cultured rugged look of a Polo Ralph Lauren model. Sam was always partial to herringbone stitching as it was the stitch of the common fisher folk. She liked knowing that she somehow knew inconsequential bits of knowledge like that. Looking at him, she could not imagine him looking less than good in anything by now. It was often impossible to find a man who dressed well but somehow David Chang did. He dressed very well and was careful to coordinate his clothes. Perhaps it was just the simplicity of buying great brands that fit together effortlessly. Nothing was ever out of place. Simple cuts. Basic colors. Good fits. That’s what maketh a man, she thought. Good clothes. Walking towards the chapel front door, most bystanders would not have found a couple more in love with one another. He had his hand gently under her arm to guide her as she walked. She walked hesitantly at first but her confidence grew with each step. She was hardly dressed to be married in a chapel. Her pastel yellow capris and matching slip-on pumps shouted good taste. Her Brooks Brothers white blouse with classic French cuffs was extremely well cut with a neck-line that ended just above that point, where if it had been a fraction lower, too much cleavage would show, and if a fraction higher, too little flesh would peek out for the blouse to be interesting

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to the eye. Just right, one could occasionally catch a glimpse of her lacy white bra. It was very attractively put together. Innocently sexy in some demure way. Samantha’s hair was left long and straight, held together with a lemon yellow hair band. She looked like a very young version of the unforgettable Audrey Hepburn. The white leather bag she carried was obviously Bottega, very soft, very understated, very expensive. The string of matched Mikimoto perfect lustre baby pearls around her neck completed the picture. She hardly looked her era. A woman met them at the chapel door and introduced herself to Sam as “Diana Musa, Mr Chang’s personal assistant.” Diana turned around to her boss and said, “Mr Chang, everything is done as you requested. The vow has been rewritten to your description and the minister will take you through the wedding now once you step in. We have arranged for some video-taping of this should the future Mrs Chang want to view her own wedding. No one else but the minister is in there as you requested.” “Thanks, Diana,” he said and turned to Samantha. “Ready?” he asked. Ready? How can anyone be ready to wed someone she hardly knows. How can anyone marry a man she had met a total of six times, thrice alone and thrice with her parents, discussing the finer details of the marriage and the deal. This was madness. Her life was madness. It was too late now. She will go through with it. If she cannot live with it beyond the next few weeks, she will get a divorce. If somehow the marriage does not work, she will take a one way flight out of Singapore and never return. She remembered the small white calling card hidden in her purse. Min, her very clever and wonderfully good

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friend from Oxford, was a great lawyer and she can work it all out for her. She will then take that job offer from Sotherbys. Only last week, they e-mailed her again noting that the regional crisis notwithstanding they would like to find a way to work with Miss Ng, and especially so since European and Asian Art is picking up some small interest in an otherwise dismal market for all other investment products. Sam smiled at David. “Yes,” she replied, very quietly, her entire being in turmoil. Yes, she said to herself and to walking into this future dictated by everyone but herself. Yes. The chapel was really quite romantically lit. Soft lights. Canned organ music playing in the background. The minister was standing right at the front, beckoning them forward. Everything went by so rapidly after that. She remembered saying “I do” to the minister’s question of whether she would take this man as her husband, and the following words were “to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall be true to self and to each other.” The words were altered. They were not ‘for as long as you both shall live’. No. But ‘for as long as they are both true to self and to each other’. This is a good vow, Sam thought. It is doable. For as long as both had truth in their being, both can observe the vow. Being true and living in truth is so much more important than living huge lies and ‘till death do we part’. Sam appreciated David at that moment. This man, 20 years older than she, seemed to have more sensitivity to new ideas than his age or industry believes.

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David said the same vow. They exchanged rings. He had prepared for them two rings from Cartier. Just simple bands, small engravings. Nothing special to look at, unless you knew they were Cartier. When the minister said that David could kiss the bride, Sam skipped a breath. She had forgotten about the ceremonial wedding. She remembered what happened the first time and then second time they kissed. This would be the third. David pulled her towards him, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. For a marriage that was going to be without sex unless she wanted it, David’s kiss obliterated thought and fired passion that she never knew existed in her. Anyone would think that they could go at it like animals for hours, the way he was kissing her. Maybe even pull a John Lennon and Yoko Ono bed-in stunt, locked up in a hotel room for a month with nothing but each other to explore. What a kiss! Samantha was blushing when he finally pulled away. A blushing bride. At least one day she will get to tell someone she was a blushing bride. Strangely enough. it was not unpleasant. Any other man might have been slapped for doing this after three dates. But this man, her husband, after only three dates, had just given her a kiss beyond the imagination of any romantic story writer and for half a moment before the passion arose in both of them, it seemed as though all of eternity converged in his lips when they met hers, speaking of love that was centuries old. Impossible. In bright daylight, impossible, she was thinking. Here she was, given the kiss of her life and yet

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she knew nothing about this man’s anatomy and whether it even worked! Her friends from Surrey would laugh at her. In fact they would laugh so hard that tears would flow and they might be clutching their fat tummies by now. How can anyone marry anyone today without first finding out if they were frigid or flaccid? And who was what in this case? Frigid? Flaccid? The mind totally boggles. Some 20th century young woman she was! More organ music now. The minister than fished out a small plastic camera and took their pictures. Someone appeared from nowhere. Took the camera and removed the video camera. Then disappeared again into the back somewhere. How do they appear and disappear that way? She really did feel like Alice in Wonderland, and had felt so since the first meeting with David. If the Red Queen appeared now, Samantha have probably just dropped into some deep curtsey and said, ‘Your Majesty.’ Back to reality, Sam and David were now married. She was Mrs Chang. David wondered how he would get used to another face responding to the name ‘Mrs Chang’, should she be called so in public. Frieda was dead. David stopped momentarily, gripped the top of the wooden bench along the aisle, took a deep breath, turned to Sam and smiled. “Come, let’s go,” he said. Sam fell asleep again as they were going back into San Francisco. As they drove into the carpark behind the hotel, David woke Sam up once again. “Come, let’s go up.” Sam shivered slightly. Her cotton blouse and cashmere cardigan did not block out the evening chill. David put his arms around her. It felt safe and warm. She had not

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quite experienced this before with Chee Pin, she thought. Oh rats, still that Chee Pin in my mind. I have to shut him out. Focus now … he’s walking me to the lift. Upstairs in their suite, they had a quiet dinner. Room service. Sam wondered what would come next. No indication. Maybe if this was an ordinary marriage, the newly married couple might already be rumpling the carefully made bed. Food would have been so secondary. But here they were, sipping champagne, carefully tasting beautifully arranged room service food, making small talk about insignificant things and just getting to know each other! Did she like dogs? Does she like Mexican food? What did she think of Picasso? What did she like about Singapore? Two newly weds, in a gorgeous suite, having dinner, alone and talking about Singapore! My God! This was the ultimate as bizarre marriages go. It has to be seen to be believed, Sam thought incredulously. I am not going to think about Chee Pin anymore, so let me think about Mark in Chee Pin’s place. If I were married to Mark, we would be in bed by now and our hands would be all over each other. I would probably be half undressed by now if not totally naked. But no, here I am carefully sipping champagne, talking about dogs and Singapore? Either I am crazy or he is. Am I sex crazy? What sort of thoughts are these anyway? Outwardly, she sipped some more champagne. David was watching her as he ate. Too much champagne. The girl is going to topple over at this rate. I wonder if she is the rowdy or the sleepy sort when tipsy. We shall soon see. Oh dear, that was a large gulp she took. She is going to fall over onto her plate at this rate. Young

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girl. Probably nervous as hell. This is not her first time but she looks as though it is. Probably shy. After all, I am so much older. It must feel odd to her being in a bedroom with a much older man. I’m not going to make a move on her. In any case, this is just a marriage of practicality. Just a marriage of practicality. Silly girl. “Samantha.” Sam was surprised at hearing her name being called. They were in the middle of discussing the Singaporean government’s latest introduction of road charges and what this meant for the common motorist as though the topic interested her in the least bit. And all the time, that dreadful king sized bed seemed to get larger by the minute, almost engulfing the room. Sam looked up from her drink. “Huh?” Not quite the polished response. But it had been an extremely long day full of surprises and anticipation. “I will not be making any demands on you. Please do not drink that much. It’s not wise. You will get a headache tomorrow. It’s great champagne but even that can give one a terrible overhang. Do not worry. You sleep on the bed. I will sleep in the adjoining room.” Oh yes, there were two rooms to this suite. So it was all planned. And she thought that this was just the way David traveled. No check-in bags, just carry-ons, Singapore Airlines First Class, large hotel suites. No fuss and no sex. Apparently not anyway, the other room was for him and I am to sleep on this super firm, ginormous, kingsized bed all by myself. She was not quite sure if she was disappointed. She would have liked his touch.

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After all, Samantha was 23 and it would be ludicrous to think that a 23-year-old who had lived abroad since her teens did not have an appetite for sex, even though she had kept herself for Chee Pin somehow and was the only one she had made love to all those years. With others, she could have come close but somehow she never wanted to at the last minute and had extricated herself gracefully each time. They were not worth the hassle or the aftermath, she thought. Also she had sometimes wondered if she might have hurt her English boyfriends if she decided to stop half-way through. What if she got bored? Did that mean she had to pretend for the rest of the session? It was too much for her to contemplate the what-ifs, so she just avoided such situations all together, until Chee Pin. But tonight, she would have liked to have tried with David. But David had already gone to his side of the suite after pushing the small room service table out the door. And she Samantha Ng, now Samantha Chang, had no idea how to ask her husband to make love to her on their wedding night. Those were not the terms of understanding in this marriage. She was to go to bed alone from now on for the next three years, she thought sadly. She curled herself to sleep in a fetal position. David slept soundly in the adjoining room and his last thought before he fell into peaceful slumber was, she is something special. Ng’s daughter is something special. He touched his own lips unaware. Kissing her was different from kissing Ling Ling—very different. He could not understand why. Something special was all he could think of as he dozed off. Something special.

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21

Sam was in a meeting when her pink, diamond-encrusted Vertu buzzed. The message said, See you tonight. I can’t live without you darling. The ladies from the Association for Children with Learning Difficulties wondered why she smiled. She texted back. Ok. Can’t talk now. Same place. Can’t wait. Till then, yours forever. Chee Pin was still hers! After all these years and all the things she had been through, Chee Pin was still hers. She nearly laughed out. Not from ego as one might think but just joy. She had so little to look forward to these days. It’s been nearly 10 years since they last met and since she wrote him that defining note. They will figure it out now. They were older and wiser, weren’t they? The thought hung deliciously in her, and the ladies in the meeting could not figure out why their patron, Mrs

Samantha Chang, seemed to be smiling secretly to herself the entire morning. It must have been a nice message. Perhaps she is pregnant. We hope so, they thought. A nice woman like her should have her own children. After all, Mr Chang’s children from that first marriage were all grown up. How did Mrs Samantha marry Mr David? A member of the public, if asked, would vaguely remember some romantic getaway wedding reported in The Straits Times, something about Lake Tahoe. Then, some weeks later the papers reported extensively on the largest business deal in five years—between Chang Empire and Pewajaran. It was so fairy tale-like. Two persons meeting that way to marry so secretly, concerned that the parents would be upset due to the age difference. Two persons returning to the father’s totally unexpected blessings, and mother’s blissful happiness at her daugther’s choice of a man. ‘Such a wonderful son-in-law’, she was quoted to have said. The merger that ensued to create a business empire that was stronger and larger under Mr Chang’s leadership. He was on nearly every board that counted and she was on the namelist of nearly every charity in town. Mrs Samantha Chang. So beautiful. So generous. Such a queen. Ahhh … the press. The meeting at hand finished early under Sam’s clever time management. Her driver picked her up from the entrance to the Singapore’s Ministry of Community Development Youth and Sports (MCYS) building. She was a frequent and very welcomed person to this building, giving leadership and suggestions. Everyone knew her.

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Including the regular cleaners to whom she smiled to. That was her role. She played queen and this was her modern day court. Wave-wave-smile-smile, everyone loves the ‘queen’ because she has so much grace. Wavewave-smile-smile. Sam was 33 this year. She didn’t look 33 though. Some might think she was just about 28. Dressed in a pair of colorful flowered pants that showed up small horseshoes here and there saying ‘Ferragamo’ and a cerulean blue Shanghai silk blouse, she could have been the cover girl for any magazine. And sometimes she was. Only for the serious ones though. David and her had agreed to a certain public image for the both of them together and apart. It was important this image. Consistent projection creates much goodwill. Negative projection has its consequences. When together in public, they always held hands. When alone, they sometimes felt like they did in that suite at the Westin St. Francis. It was not that they had never made love over the 10 years. They were clearly attracted to each other but both understood the terms of the marriage. This was soon to be Year 10, the crossover year. This year, Sam’s decision would affect how David shared his wealth with her. For most part, Sam had forgotten about that contract. It had not mattered after a while in their marriage. She had slipped comfortably into the role of playing Mrs David Chang or Mrs Samantha Chang. David was generous with her. She had not met anyone that she preferred to be with more than him. She had a great life playing ‘queen’ while David worked to expand the company.

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Wave-wave-smile-smile … Was that love? What was love anyway? Sam never answered that question. What did she want? Sam again never answered that question. The years had gone by, comfortably, and she had shut out some of the emotions from her life to deal with her everyday duties and the business needs of their union. One year her father had gotten very ill. It was during the seventh year of their marriage. Then after six months of hospitalization and the least possible pain, he passed on peacefully. Sam was not unhappy—she had done her best for him whilst he was alive. Pamela, now in her late 50s, found new amusement. She had moved from dancing to pottery classes. Marcos had returned to his wife and children in the Philippines. It turned out that tight-tush Marcos was married and all those squeezie-squeezies under the stairs were extramarital for both of them. She still kept a toy-boy but a smarter one this time. Also this time, instead of just dancing her around the floor, he helps her find her reading glasses and brings her around town in her metallic pink Audi4. She still held a preference for Filipino men who were available that way to her. So when she met Andre who was not a dancer but an investment manager with one of the banks, she was thrilled. Andre was respectable. After Ng died, she had inherited US$50 million. A nice amount for a young fund manager like Andre to handle whilst progressing up the social circle in Singapore through her carefully planned introductions. The PAMNG fund was formed that way and now running at US$150 million, Andre had lots to do everyday in her private employment.

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Sam made her way home, chauffeured. The Changs’ residence was different from Ng’s mansion. Samantha’s preference for zen-like simplicity happened even before the current mass superficial preference for zen-furnishing without understanding or appreciation of its philosophy. Sam had mixed the spiritual element of Japanese simplicity well with Burmese teak and the home gave a sense of peace on entrance. The minimal furnishing, the large expanse of hallway, the huge Buddha image sitting at the end of the room made one aware of the smallest sounds that came from the tinkling wind chimes which hung around the hallway, hidden in the trees that were carefully landscaped around. The trees would swish whenever a breeze was felt, creating an almost make-believe world here, as though one had walked into a sacred meeting place of the devas and was already embracing their blessings just by being there. Six dark urns of water stood around and somewhere in the background, a distant sound like the gentle babble of a newly born brook could just barely be heard. You might expect new age music to play but there was none. Only silence and a stillness in the air that said, ‘You are here’. Beyond the hallway, the style of the house broke into something more comfortable to accommodate David’s need for plush cushions and her love for Eastern carpets. Upstairs, it was even more plush and comfortable. It was the unusual house entrance which drew the weary guest into its sense of peace and serenity. It created in your mind the feeling of sanctuary. Thoughts and soul once gathered after walking through the hallway, a guest can

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proceed to relax in a luxurious home, giving reign to his other senses to absorb beauty of a different kind. She ran upstairs with a dance in her steps. David was not home yet. Time to get her things together. She would meet Chee Pin at 6:00 pm. She flicked on the TV to HBO. Runaway Bride was playing—Julia Roberts as the woman who could never marry because she did not know herself. Sam laughed. Well, she herself was married but neither did she know herself. Not even after all these years. True love? Herself ? What do these terms mean anyway? She understood roles. She had a role as a wife. She had her roles on various committees. She served the less privileged with generous donations and by contributing at committees. She understood all these things very well. This was her life for the last 10 years. She shrugged. Well, maybe tonight, she will find herself. Maybe tonight she will find love again, if indeed it was love she had with Chee Pin all those years. One could never tell, looking back. It seemed like love then. Did she not find love with David? She caught sight of the photo of herself and David on her dressing table. She had placed it there. Sometimes they had the press in their home, taking photographs and it was important, oh so important, to maintain that image of ‘happily ever after’. They were Singapore’s sweethearts. That itself had goodwill value. David had managed to leverage their secret wedding to both their advantage which reflected well finally on the company and the immediate share prices for a few weeks. David. Early in their marriage, it had seemed that she was as obsessed with him as she had been with Chee Pin.

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For different reasons though. In all the years they were married, he was good to his word. She remembered when she found out about his liaison in Shanghai. It was Year Three of their marriage. She confronted him with that. What was good for the goose was good for the gander. Keep the conjugal bed fair for both of them, she had said. He agreed without hesitation. So while he continued to visit Shanghai because of his young off-the-wedding-bed daughter, she believed his integrity when he said he had stopped all sexual relations with Ling Ling. Yes, he was good to his word. There would be no sex unless she asked for it, he had also said. Initially she did not know what to make of that statement and the signed arrangement. So even when she wanted to be held, just held and nothing more, she could not figure out how to ask for that. The princess beneath that cool public facade was really a hot, lusty and unfulfilled young woman yet unaware of her sexual personality. It was sad. She was desired by all men but her husband, the all powerful David Chang whom she had kissed a total of three times in that one and a half years into the marriage: 1) when she asked for it in London 2) when she saw him back in Singapore when the pre-nuptial was signed and 3) when they were married at Tahoe. Not a single kiss after they were married. Not in that first 18 months. Only three kisses—a kiss every half year, she calculated in dismay, wondering if she was really an unattractive hag after all. She started to read widely on the Internet—‘How do you communicate sexual desire to a man/your husband besides being the prettiest thing on this side of

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the civilized world’. Her mother had only really taught her the latter believing that that alone was sufficient. Nothing had prepared her for this. When Pamela made an advance, it was very clear to all. After all, five toy-boys down and a cheque book to pay for unnamed services, an older woman like Pam communicates her sexual needs easily. Sam with all her years of being abroad was, however, still a novice. It seemed so wrong, asking a man to do that to her. Shouldn’t it come naturally? To ask for that would be to say that there must be something wrong with her. After all, which woman needs to ask to be screwed? Sam had flinched when that ‘s’ word first entered her consciousness. How ugly a word, she had thought. She was just not made that way. No, she was not a prude. She knew she could climax. First time round with Chee Pin, bang. It all worked out so nicely. It was natural. But now, how is she to ask someone to make love to her? It just went against everything she had come to understand about femininity and womanhood, and an Asian one at that. Who would have imagined the beautiful Mrs Chang, idolized by Singapore socialite wannabes, had been made celibate by her husband’s strength of word and will. Who would have guessed? Choosing between a lifestyle and sex seemed easy before the marriage. At the one and a half year mark now, her husband had driven her red hot with passion to the point that had she been a man, she might have jumped on him, pinned him down and taken him, with or without his consent. She was just so starved for physical affection.

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This celibacy thing overwhelmed her. It made her all jumpy and nervous. Her energy going nowhere, her desires all crammed inside her, repressed. She really was about to burst, she sometimes thought. And her methods for self-relief worked only to a point. She even began to have wild fantasies about the hunky repair men who came to the house. How gross! Such lustful thoughts. Samantha Chang, cool socialite to the world, fantasizing about the sweaty bodied repair men and how good they might be in bed whispering sweet nothings to her in common Hokkien or guttural Cantonese. How do you say ‘great sex’ in Hokkien, she wondered. Then, just as she was about to crack mentally, salvation came in the form of alcohol. She had been celibate for 18 months in her very young life. She had awakened that morning to discover a strand of white hair on her head and had begun moping over the loss of her youth. By night fall, common sense had left Samantha as she pondered if she would find passion and love before all her hair turned white. That night David came home slightly drunk. She was sitting on her huge designer-clad bed, reading up on how she can raise her kundalini. The book said to align the energies so that a powerful surge could cleanse her completely. It would be better than sex. In fact, it would cleanse her of all sexual desires while making her youthful and supple again. Well, that was certainly something to look forward to, she thought. The book was clearly written for the very middle-aged, being titled Eternal Youth.

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Pachelbel was playing in the background. The Chianti soothed her and she had hoped to fall asleep in a fantasy dream where her frustration would dissolve away in the heavenly ecstasy of a dream state orgasm, whether through some kundalini raising experience or in the arms of an Italian hunk on some deserted Blue Lagoon-type island. David came in through the bedroom door. David still slept in the adjoining room—he had a small room sectioned off with an extra bed. New maids to the house would gossip that Samantha was frigid when they saw that extra bed. Sam looked up from her book. He was home early. She had not even started her ohm-ing that evening. Oh dear, he did not look too good. Hair tousled, eyes just that little wild. Getting up from the huge super king-sized bed, she went towards him. “David, you have drunk too much.” He smiled. A lock of dark hair fell over his eyes. A sheepish smile. A winning smile really. He looked like a young boy, coming home being caught for fishing when it was forbidden. You want to be angry but you fall in love with the little boy’s charm, so your anger fades as quickly as it arose. “Come, let me help you.” So Sam helped her husband unbutton his shirt for the first time and then put on his pyjama top for him. She hesitated, standing back when it came to his pants. She almost regretted volunteering to help. This man to whom she had been married to for 18 months, she just remembered, she did not even know if he had a penis. She really had no idea.

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What if it was some wooden peg that pops up? After all, some people have glass eyes and others wooden legs? What if her husband had a wooden peg for a penis? That would explain why they have lived that separately all these past months. That would explain his zero desire for her which was so abnormal. David was now slumped over on her bed. She looked at him. He was very nearly asleep. She should just leave him alone to sleep. But his pants were half on and half off, and his long legs were half on and half off her bed. She decided to proceed. She was the wife. This man cannot possibly sleep in that way on her bed. This was not some drama serial on television. Just get on with it. She pulled off the pants and quickly replaced it with the pyjama bottoms. My goodness, he was heavy. There you are, David. I am Florence Nightingale now to you—was Miss Nightingale also a nun? I sure feel like one in this marriage. Another 18 months and I will be free, Samantha thought looking at her sleeping husband. It would be three years then. Oh gosh, David looks good even when drunk and asleep. She sighed. Eighteen months left to go, US$10 million await and possibly a new life along with it. You will have your deals and contacts by then and I can move on. I cannot keep this up any longer. Pewajaran is important but so is my life. I cannot be celibate for the rest of it. Dear old Chee Pin is already soon to be married, I have heard, but somewhere out there, there must be a man who would want my body. For goodness’ sakes, I am beautiful. If I were gay, I might even clone myself, she thought madly.

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Samantha felt trapped and resigned to her fate. For there she had in front of her, a lump of very nice male meat on her marriage bed, not just anyone but her own husband to be exact, and she had only just found out that he did indeed have that vital male organ, but only after 18 celibate months of being married to him. The words rang in her head—this is an enormous joke of cosmic proportion. Who wrote that? Doesn’t matter. This was. It truly was. A huge cosmic joke. The situation and not her husband’s penis. The penis looked just fine, dangling in between his legs. It probably worked too with the right incentive. I guess I am just not it for him. Maybe he has turned gay by now. Who knows. Well, at least he has the equipment and it is not a teeny weeny wooden peg, she thought. She went to her side of the bed. David was sprawled over the other side, thank God. Slipped in between the sheets. Reached out to switch the lights off. Snuggled down. There was a man on her bed. A breathing man. Someone nearly snoring in fact. Instead of feeling annoyed at the new sound and weight on her bed, Sam felt hopeful. It had been too long. This human being on her bed, messy, heavy and that faint smell of male sweat and alcohol made her feel real and not some walking, talking apparition, going about the motions of her daily tasks as wife, socialite, do-gooder, friend and daughter, interacting with someone called David who was her husband to all the world but in the privacy of their home, they lived such separate lives. In this quiet moment now with this man lying beside her, the sound of his breathing and occasional snore made

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her feel real. She was not in someone’s dream. It was just a bizarre reality that she lived. She fell asleep that way. She awoke soon after. David had somehow come up to her on the bed. He was snuggling close behind. His arm over her body and his hand was cupping her breast. She stared at that hand. How weird! Do men auto-pilot themselves into such positions when drunk? He was breathing down her neck. It was warmish and smelt less of alcohol than she would have thought. She snuggled herself into position so she could feel his body against hers. He felt really good, this person who was her husband. She caught herself thinking that he felt different from Chee Pin and chided herself. Chee Pin was nearly married. She was here, already married. This was a good moment. So savor the moment. Enjoy David. Her husband behind her, his hand on her breast, her heart beating wildly, she felt his body’s warmth behind her as she molded her body into the ‘S’ shape her husband’s body made. She thought, it matters not that we do not make love. At least I have this moment tonight. I wonder if sleeping on the same bed is something I can ask for regularly to feel less lonely at home. She let out a long sigh. David must have heard her. For a moment, he tightened his arms around her. Then in one movement, he was suddenly on top of her. She was surprised. Was he going to sleep-rape her now? She half thought with hope. His eyes were sleepily opened. He was smiling. He still looked like a little boy with his lock of hair falling over his eyes and not 20 years older. She was halfway through this thought when he kissed her. Here it goes again was her

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last thought before she was sucked into that whirlpool of being kissed by David. If Samantha had felt that she was kissed to mindless abandon at Tahoe, this kiss surpassed all others in her memory, be it David’s, Chee Pin’s or whoever’s. In fact, it erased all past kisses from her memory. In the Superman III movie with Christopher Reeves playing Superman, Superman kissed Lois Lane with the ‘Kiss of Forgetfulness’ right at the end of the show. She had watched that with Chee Pin. He was obsessed with Superman and she had dutifully followed his obsession then. That ‘Kiss of Forgetfulness’ was what David’s kiss felt like. It was the kiss of forgetting all other men and boys before him. It was probably the same kiss in Austrian artist Gustav Klimt’s most loved and controversial masterpiece called The Kiss with critics claiming that the outline of the kissing couple was phallic-shaped. It was that kind of a kiss. Sam later labeled this ‘The David’s Kiss-ofForgetfulness’ and felt an almost violent sexual hunger for this man who was on top of her. This man who was her husband. She held on to him and kissed him as hard as he was kissing her. It was as though all those months of abstinence had created a bottomless well of imprisoned desire in her and this desire had just found a crack from which to explode. Restraint was gone. This was her husband, she thought. This is my right. My goddamn right. I am going to make him wish he had never made love to any other woman besides me in his life. I am going to be every single

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fantasy for him tonight. This is my David, she nearly said out loud. Whether David was truly drunk that night or just perhaps partially faking it, they never discussed it thereafter. But his slight drunkenness gave them both the excuse to behave as they needed without the necessity of talk or reason. When he penetrated her, she wanted to scream. She bit her lower lip to stop herself. Not because she was climaxing. No. But because her pent-up desire all those months for this one moment had totally captured all her private thoughts and made her taut with tension. Samantha who was carefree and fancy free had been living life as a nun whilst being tempted several times a day by the tall silhouette of her husband whom she had unknowingly fallen in love with, watching his movements and admiring his style. At this release, reason left her and sex possessed her. The same can be said of David. He had been watching this beautiful young woman in his bedroom for the last 18 months. She had never asked, never made a move. She even wore long white nightgowns, for Chrissakes. What was he to do? She seemed to keep to herself all the time, reading her books, listening to refined music, sipping very well mellowed wine in bed, all princess-like. When he came near her, she was super alert, super attentive, like some schoolgirl, watchful in case this strange older man touched her somewhere her mother would have warned her of. She was on the edge all the time. So he always quickly retreated. He did not want to appear like

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some lecherous old man. He did not want her to think he wanted her, or that he was unable to keep his word. If only it was that simple though. One night, as she had stood against the light on her nightstand table, David caught a glimpse of his wife’s body under that chaste white nightgown. The backlighting showed him what he already knew looking at her that first time at the Equinox. Sam had an amazing body for a princess-type woman. It wasn’t some demure looking thing in there. No. It was a body of a woman for a man. My GOD. It took all he could manage to get out of that room fast. So he walked out very quickly, nearly tripping over the huge sheep skin rug at the foot of her bed. Samantha was a bit stunned and thought she had said something insensitive and cursed herself, not realizing that her husband was going mad with animal lust for her. This marriage understanding that they thought they had, it was of course insane. David desired his new wife. In fact, he became as obsessed with her as she with him. He sometimes even missed a breath thinking of her. To avoid another mad rush out of her room, too many cold showers and over-running on his exercise mill, David began to stay out later at work thereafter. Sam thought it was work that kept him away. She could call him at any time and he would be in the office or in evening meetings with all the right background noises. She never once guessed that it was her own body that kept her husband away from her, their bedroom and his home. That night when they finally consummated their marriage, they had that extra drop of alcohol to thank. It became easier thereafter—it is always useful to use a

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bit of alcohol as the reason for human fallibility. Possibly another oldest trick in what was the male-only book for sexual conquests. It was also extremely useful to blame that extra drop of alcohol in the aftermath of their wild abandon and tearing at each other like animals in heat almost sometimes. Nothing needed to be explained the next day as things always returned to the façade of the cool collected press pristine personalities, Mr and Mrs Chang, Singapore’s celebrated sweethearts. The monsters in them the night before would have been ushered back into their respective cages, safely locked away until the next drop of alcohol. Soon, both forgot about the necessity for the veil of alcohol and just acted out their tipsiness as their precursors to wild nights. All at home just beyond that peaceful hall where Buddha sat watching silently over the going-ons of humankind. Both knew the game they were playing by now. Neither admitted it. It did not matter. They were regular lovers and that was all that mattered. The word ‘love’ was never used. Never once exchanged. The signed marriage pact therefore faded in significance from day to day, and from year to year. Two people who found such pleasure in each other forgot time quickly, and besides there were charities, companies, deals, balls and daily life to attend to. So if sex was that great with her own husband, what was drawing Samantha to Chee Pin now, meeting him 10 years after their break-up? Why now? Why the need to see him today? Love.

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22

Samantha knew she was in an odd situation. Somehow, she Samantha Ng, who is now Samantha Chang, had • married a man 20 years older than she to please her father and rescue his company; • left her childhood sweetheart for this man; • realized that he was still in love with his dead wife, Frieda, who was his childhood sweetheart; • discovered 18 months into the marriage that she and her husband were ideally matched in sexual energy, mental capacity, social graces and style, but still had no clue about his feelings towards her even though they have been married for 10 years now. Not once has David uttered the word ‘love’ to her; • found out in Year Three of the marriage that he had a mistress in Shanghai with a 10-year-old child conceived the year he proposed to her, and asked him to break up with Ling Ling. He had agreed and she believed him; • was ‘step-mother’ to three step children who were grown-up, the eldest of which was just a few years younger than she was; and

• just re-met her childhood sweetheart after 10 years and he still seems to be crazily in love with her, so she is curious to see if he really is the love of her life instead of this hugely successful man she was married to and with whom she had ‘wild orchid’ nights with. It was the need for love and to be loved that gripped Samantha. Great sex without the knowledge of great love cannot complete a woman. Samantha yearned to be loved. She did not feel love with David. She felt passion and so much heat with that man, yes. She felt empathy, greater understanding, yes. But love? No, she did not feel it. And even if she did, she had no idea that that was how love felt. Our need to be loved makes us do crazy things and we’re each a bigger fool for doing it and a wiser human for having done it. Samantha was no different. So at 6:00 pm, Samantha Chang told the maid she was going out, drove her yellow Ferrari to Shangri-la hotel, walked over to the lobby and caught a taxi to the Sheraton. It is too difficult to park a yellow Ferrari at the Sheraton without being spotted. At the Shangri-la, even if spotted, she can explain the time away by citing a meeting with one of her women friends in one of the many F&B outlets in the large hotel. You would imagine that Samantha was an expert in cloak and dagger mysteries, the way she did it without batting an eyelid. Truth is that Samantha learnt this from her father as a trick to avoid being kidnapped and to prevent her cars from being scratched by parking in the wrong kind of carparks. She would sometimes park

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her car at a safe car park and take an inconspicuous taxi to her destination if the car park at her final destination was not too safe or had too narrow ramps for her widebodied Ferrari. At 6:25 pm, Sam was at the Sheraton walking towards the little alcove under the stairs. Chee Pin was late. She sat and ordered a very strong margarita. She has never done anything like this. Not even in her loneliest year with her husband did she think of cheating on him. That was the year when David was flying in and out of Shanghai as though it was a shuttle flight between Singapore and KL. Sam had wantonly thought that she should dress to kill tonight and had taken out her wispy black extremely low cut, see-through blouse to go with her satin black pants, but she decided against it. Dressing down was the smarter way to go. She then put on a simple black-knit tee to go with the satin pants, not wishing to look too much like the girl next door in her renewed liaison with her old flame. She was deep in thought. It was one thing to be all emotional and teary-eyed when she first met Chee Pin. She had missed him and she had not done the right thing by him the way they broke up. But it is another thing altogether to sit in a hotel lobby waiting for a past lover to turn up, basking in some delicious game-plan to seduce this old time friend and watching a silent movie replay in her head of their last romp in bed before both were married to other people, Chee Pin to May, her classmate from Singapore Chinese Girls’ School, and she to David, her protector, defender and emperor as prescribed by her father.

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Chee Pin came through Sheraton’s glass door at 6:40 pm. He was still in his blue RSAF uniform, sky blue shirt with epaulettes carrying the captain rank and navy blue trousers. Looking a little anxious with that frown on his forehead, he turned left and made his way to the lobby bar. There she was, seated on the couch under the stairs in that hideaway corner. He smiled nervously. He too had never cheated on May. He felt too grateful to her all these years. Was it love? Was gratefulness to a person love? He hurried over to her. Gosh, she looks stunning, he thought. May can never look like that. Oh damn May! I must stop thinking of her tonight. Which is worse—to cheat without a care, or to cheat carrying an image of your spouse in your head while you cheat? I wonder how Gerard did it all those months. I want Sam. I want her now. But Adele ... May ... my mother ... Pilot, if you think this way, you are going to kill yourself. Focus. Breathe. Focus. Gerard was Chee Pin’s buddy friend in the airforce. Gerard went amok in Bangkok on one of the detachments. Down every other free night at Patpong, Gerard found himself a small following of Thai girls. He indulged them with a 20 per cent tip for their services, making them think he was some high ranking officer from Singapore. Fair faced slightly fat Gerard who was the shortest of the pilots with awfully straight oily brown hair that glued together like a sticky panel on top of his head. He was the worst looking of the Squadron 12X pilots. He looked like what fish-ball makers should look if they were to have a uniformed look—round, fair, and with toothpick-like legs.

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In Bangkok, Gerard’s adventures cost him. When he returned to Singapore, he asked to stay with Chee Pin. He had caught the clap. He rang home telling his wife he was still in Bangkok, playing some Thai music in the background while he hung on to the telephone resisting the itch and feeling some pain. Then he told May that his wife had absentmindedly taken the condo-keys with her on her trip home to Penang to be with her parents. For 10 days, he stayed in Chee Pin’s home going for treatment at Middle Road. May thought that he was possibly the most amusing of the SAF pilots with his non-stop, rapid, rodent-like movements and chatter. Gerard’s chatter never stops. Gerard thought he was being friendly and had no idea that most women subconsciously hate men who compete with them for verbal airspace and talk-time. The general rules are: 1) A man’s presence should be felt but hardly seen—large men are obstructive as women go about their day in their homes. 2) A man should be ready to help but hardly heard—men who chatter are not the strong silent archetype that most women fall in love with. Mr Darcy hardly talked. Don’t men read? But still, unpopular Gerard, as he was known in Singapore, was the most daring of them all in Bangkok. And after the clap was treated, Gerard started an affair with an olive-skinned woman he picked up along Duxton Road after four drinks one night. Chee Pin only wondered how Gerard could do it. His wife was not any wiser through the years and whenever the clap showed up, Gerard said he refrained from lovemaking at home.

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After that first and only time of helping out his buddy, Chee Pin withdrew from the friendship. Lying was too much for him. He could not meet Gerard’s wife, Susan, without feeling huge pangs of guilt. It also got too much for Chee Pin to listen to stories of lights, breasts and Gerard’s sex-making sessions with women of various shapes and sizes. Chee Pin sometimes even wondered how such men will defend our country in times of war. Yet for all his weakness with women, he knew Gerard was a good soldier and a better than average pilot. And here Chee Pin was. He was about to take that first step towards where Gerard was. And Gerald was in Medusa’s venomous death from Chee Pin’s point of view. Sam got up as he walked up to her. She reached out. Touched his forehead. This was nice, he thought. Sam. Was she still his? His eyes caught the shape of her neck and her soft supple back in that cut-away black tee that Sam wore. Yes, he wants this woman, he convinced himself. She was his. She was his very own sweet, sweet Sam. Sam squeezed his hand. “Come up in five minutes. Room 8XX,” she said. This was the first time Sam was near to cheating on her husband but she was already so masterful at the game. There will be no walking up together to the lift. Separately. Sam could have just as easily booked the room ahead and waited for him in the room. But she chose to wait for him. To watch him arrive and to give herself time, in case she should change her mind at the last minute. She now thought she saw no reason to abandon her plan for a night of rediscovery with her former playmate, as she eyed him

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from afar, watching him walk up to her. She thought she felt right. So she continued to play. In her Matahari way, she walked down the stairs to the basement of Sheraton. There were fewer people there. Those who saw her might think she had emerged from the ladies toilet next to the alcove where they sat, and was making her way to the Chinese restaurant on the basement level. At the basement, she took the lift that was next to the Chinese restaurant up to the eighth floor. You see, if a woman intends to cheat, she can do it a lot smarter than a man can. She would have planned it out even more carefully and with greater detail, leaving absolutely no tracks but her guilt, if she had any. After all, society has made her cunning with its expectations. A woman has more to lose if she were found out and so the smartest of them would have planned each minute step along the way with great care. What more if you had been the daughter of a philandering father! You knew all the moves, all the tricks in the book of cheating that he had in his head. You would also have added a few of your own as you had watched him trip over his mistakes, and you would have modified his old game plans to perfect execution in your mind. Oh, women are never as dumb as they look. Most just play along with the men in their lives. Or they forget they are that smart after living a life with dumb men. That was the tragedy of social conditioning. Chee Pin arrived upstairs 10 minutes later. Sam was already waiting. The TV was on. A bottle of Chianti

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was on the night stand. She held a glass and was sipping slowly. He was nervous as hell. This Samantha. She always seemed so cool and together, even in their craziest escapade. This is what this is. Some crazy escapade. Not any different from when they pretended to run away once from Pamela and his mother. They hid at the bottom of the garden, crawling into the huge cardboard Pampers’ box that the supermarket had used to make delivery that afternoon. They had dragged the box from the driveway, giggling at their new battleship, thinking how smart they both were to be there while both the mothers were calling for them, one from inside Ng’s mansion and the other outside. This was just like another episode in the Dick and Jane series, except that it was ‘Pin and Sam’. Samantha had left the house to look for love that night. Was this love? It sure felt like sex. Did Billy Crystal get it right in the movie When Harry Met Sally? Can a man and a woman be great friends without sex getting in the way? Right there and then, it seems like not. In the last few weeks, both Chee Pin and Samantha have been transported to when she was 20 and back from university one summer, reversing her car and catching the sight of Chee Pin in her side mirror. Both had wanted to embrace a childhood love then. Now both wanted to find out if the last 10 years had changed them or their love. There had been no closure to that love. They had known each other forever. A letter with ‘I’ve changed’ as its core message had left a jilted lover catatonic and the other hanging on to the arm of the next richest tycoon in Singapore in a celibate marriage

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for 18 months. Such a letter can never give what was kindest when love ends—closure. Chance meetings years later, especially if neither had changed all that much in appearance, bring up emotions that had been squashed away. And left in the waiting so that daily life could continue seemingly unchanged, waiting for the chance one day to find final healing. Room 8XX held that chance for Chee Pin and Sam that night. “Samantha” was all Chee Pin could say as he reached out to hold her. He kissed her. He tasted awfully funny, she thought. She had been imagining so many things about this one moment. How in that one kiss she would find her true self. How in that one kiss they would both know that they were life’s true love. And how May and David would disappear in some soft misty lens effect leaving only the two of them on some high breezy hill locked in embrace with Love Song playing in the background as though the entire universe had somehow worked tirelessly to bring them together again—two star-crossed lovers meant for each other alone. None of that happened however. Chee Pin’s mouth tasted funny. She stopped herself just in time from making a face. Perhaps she was not used to it. So when he kissed her harder, she kissed back harder. But, he was nearly groping her now. Stop, stop, she thought. This feels horrible … very unnatural. She pulled away. Poor Chee Pin. He had absolutely no idea. Now what, he thought. As he had started kissing her, all he could think about was Adele’s chirpy voice that morning and that he

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was still in uniform. His uniform—he was supposed to bear truth and honor in this country. Truth. Honor. How does one do that if one could not be truthful to one’s own wife, especially to a wife like May who was just so trusting and good? But so as not to disappoint the one sweetheart of his entire childhood life, he pressed on. Harder, he thought. So, confused, he kissed Sam harder. Harder does it. Harder. Maybe that would shut out Adele’s chirpy nonstop chatter and he would soon take off his uniform letting him be naked Tan Chee Pin instead of Captain Tan Chee Pin, RSAF officer, defender of Singapore, test pilot, upholder of truth, justice and honor. And yes, he groped her. He felt committed to do so. He had to do something with those hands of his after all. This was surreal in the lowest form of surrealistic experiences. He was not himself. It was so displacing. His thoughts were all jumbled up. Could he even get it up when it was time to do so? How on earth did he get here? What was Sam doing here? Who was paying for this room anyway? Where was his handphone? Maybe it will ring soon and he will be recalled to the air base. He would then have time to figure out what this session was all about. What was he feeling? He felt disconnected, the scene, his head, his heart, his hands and his mouth. And now he realised that his one hand was nearly on her breast and his other had slipped inside her designer pants. What on earth was he doing? He did not quite desire her as he had imagined while driving to the Sheraton in his Saab, remembering the curves of her body and the

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softness of her skin. He thought he would have exploded with desire by now. But something about this entire setup was just beyond Captain Tan. Now, I’ve changed? The thought entered incredulously. So when she pulled away, he was part surprised but very relieved. Then his ego began banging on his male head to taunt his manliness. What did he do wrong now? Sam was looking at him. He was looking back at her. They were unsure, looking at each other. Then suddenly without any warning, Sam burst out laughing as she used to as a child playing games with him. He saw how comic they both were too. So he too laughed out. Their laughter transformed that undefined unsure moment from one of possible adult apprehension, fear and constructed lust to childlikeness and butterflies. Yes, butterflies. Butterflies were free. They were instantly brought back to when they once were—children growing up, knowing they were different, aware that their mothers were different, but at the end, they were just two children who had found in each other complementary imaginations to create small getaway fantasies and who had loved each other unreservedly with childlike faith and honesty. Sam and Chee Pin hugged. This time it felt real. This time there was nothing in between them anymore, this man and this woman, this boy and this girl. The hurt was gone, the expectations dissipated. Sam was crying with joy. She felt ‘home’ somehow, perhaps just at home with herself. He smelt her hair and caressed her head. This time without the lust of last night or the ego of a driven man to repossess what was once

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his. This time with the tenderness of over 30 years of friendship and the compassion of a brother. They will always be each other’s. Of course. Whoever there was in their lives, today or tomorrow, they would always be each other’s. They were family, Sam and Chee Pin. Two small children who had grown up with love and understanding of two very different worlds, who had fallen so in love with each other because of the ocean between their worlds in their youth and idealism, but who now see the impossibility of the two worlds merging without monumental changes to their lives which neither would be willing to effect. Flying would always be everything to Chee Pin. And being someone significant, living a great lifestyle, would always be everything to Sam. Two worlds and therefore, necessarily two lives. They climbed into bed and hugged each other as they would have as children, Sam in Chee Pin’s arms. Both looking at the ceiling, laughing at things that had gone through their lives, sharing all the great things they both did through the 10 years apart. Once, just once, Chee Pin kissed her softly on her lips. This time, the lust was gone. In its place, a tender kiss. It held the hint of possible promise or threat of desire, but both were quite content to let that moment pass and to continue basking in each other’s happy company just talking. It was 11:00 pm when the Vertu rang. Sam ignored it. It rang again. A tad annoyed, she got up and took it out of her new pink Gucci tote. An unlisted number. What? Who?

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23

David was on the way home from the office. Leaving Ling Ling the night before in Shanghai was not easy. They had talked through the night. In the 15 years he had known Ling Ling, they had become old friends. Very good friends who understood each other so very well. She was not his wife, never that. He had never proposed marriage, not even when he found her to be pregnant with Pei Pei. How could he? Although Pei Pei was conceived after Frieda’s death and just before Samantha’s father approached him with that improbable idea to marry his daughter, both Ling Ling and David had already long known that David could never love Ling Ling the way a man should love a woman in marriage and that a day would come when the liaison would break. Marriage would have only hurt what was good between them. The fact that it had lasted 15 years with the changes in the texture of the relationship through the years was sufficient for Ling Ling. David was not her first man. She understood the games that men played and she understood especially the games that Shanghainese men and women played. While it started as a love game with David, her intelligence took over and it became a great friendship between two persons with common interests

in the arts and fine Chinese cuisine. Ling Ling was now in her 40s. Perhaps a 40-year-old was more compatible with a 50-year-old man than Samantha, who was in her early 30s. Perhaps. This year was different. It was the 10th year of his marriage to Samantha. He would not have thought that Samantha would have stayed this long. The marriage started off as one of necessity for him, improbable but necessary. He needed Ng to cooperate to make the merger a success. And he was right. Ng for all his shortcomings loved his family. He was Chinese and family was everything. Everything. The pre-nuptial hidden from him, Ng thought his daughter had everything to gain with his helping David to build Chang-Pewajaran. So he opened up the doors one by one. In three years, David had access to the timber tycoons in Pahang, Sabah, Indonesia and Myanmar. He had access to the right Sultans in Malaysia and the right Tan Sris. He was on first name basis with a few members of the Thai Royal family, enough to receive blessings and recognition for his work in the villages in the remotest parts of Thailand even as he built factories that offered large employment in the industrial parts. He could pick up the phone to the exact approving chairmen of the relevant committees in China for his projects. Ng was a valuable ally, more valuable than Ng realized at the point of the merger. Sometimes, it takes two. One person to be the asset and the other to leverage the asset. In this case, Ng was the asset, and David knew how to leverage him. Nothing was ever unpleasant. In fact, those last years of his working life, Ng found a great business friend and

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partner in his son-in-law, David Chang. He had been right about David. He was a good man. Ng never once asked if he was a good husband to his daughter. Chang provided for her, and in some ways for them. So that was that. All week, the pre-nuptial had hung over David’s head. This year, in a few months time, if neither of them pulls out, Samantha will have rights to 50 per cent of all that was David’s. He did not think the marriage would have lasted this long. His own children were now all well taken care of and they had no more need of his wealth. Each owned shares of Chang-Pewajaran in their own right and was entitled to respective board seats, but chose to be represented via their joint holding company through the eldest, Elaine Chang. Elaine was as beautiful as her mother and reminded David of Frieda constantly. They were so different and yet so alike, Sam and Frieda. They looked different but they seemed to like the same things. They delighted in art, Sam having the finer taste for all her years of education and training, but Frieda having had the more intuitive inborn eye despite her lack of travel and training. Both seemed to genuinely enjoy doing charity work and giving, which was close to his heart. That part of David’s and Sam’s lives was at least never a show. It was not possible to work with the old, weak and infirmed unless someone really cared enough to do it. And Sam really cared. In her thousand-dollar designer togs, she would do what needed to get done. She learnt later that it was more practical to put on her Marks and Spencer coordinated

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outfits to conduct such work. Imelda, their maid, benefitted from hand-me-downs of slightly spoilt designer clothes each time an infirmed person created a mess on Sam. She hated it when her clothes were spoilt but she never showed that she was upset. She hated the smells the mess made but she was never angry. That was something special about this rich would-have-been-heiress he had married, taking her from her world of boarding and finishing schools and jet-setting across Paris, London and Rome back to practical hard-working Singapore. The only thing David would have wished was for his wife to have taken up that job at Sotherby’s somehow. She was perfect for the role and would have done the job extremely well. He would not have minded seeing her only occasionally in London whilst she pursued that talent of hers for a period of time. It was never too late, he knew. The Singapore National Arts Council seemed to be doing extremely well these days with the great shows and openings. Lee, that new CEO they appointed was visionary. Perhaps Sam can take on something else now. She showed sufficient interest to become a docent at the art museum and there had met Peggy, Leong’s wife. Leong was Singapore’s minister in charge of several key portfolios. It always helps to know people and especially so in squeaky clean Singapore, where everything had to be done aboveboard and open to any form of investigation at any time, by very vigilant officers who were all educated in the finest schools around the world. These people were paid extremely well to catch monkey business. One had to be

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a fool to try being a monkey here. And really there was no need. With the right idea, connections, funds and luck, you can succeed. David was living testimony to that. Well this year, in fact, very, very soon, he has to decide. Is Sam going to be his wife in every way and not just in some marriage deed? Common sense told him that Sam will not bail out this year. In a few months, after all, she will be sharing everything with him, 50/50. If she had never cheated on him before, she must be satisfied with the marriage and with him. This relationship must somehow be sufficient for her. Was it love? David dismissed the thought. What was love after all? A ephemeral concept from the heads of Hollywood screenwriters. He had already known love. Love was Frieda and David. That was love. Show me another Frieda and I will show you ‘love’, he thought. Ling Ling, knowing his predicament regarding Samantha, told him that he should stop seeing her altogether. He can send for Pei Pei each time he was in Shanghai. “Why was Ling Ling so understanding?” he had probed. To Ling Ling, she was not giving up a ‘husband’. She was really giving up just a very good friend. They ceased being lovers a long time ago, and she found her own pasttimes in colorful exciting Shanghai. David was just one man. A good man. But one man. There were many men in Shanghai, many as smart as David, and when you cannot capture a man’s heart even after having given your all to him, you must move on. Hope must die for new hope to be reborn. You can be frustrated and upset—you can even

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be angry. But only a while. For that was useless energy. It would be the cleverer and wiser thing to do—to tap what you can from that man who seemed lost in his love for a dead wife and enraptured in sex with his new one. Smart though David was, he really could not see the end of his own nose, Ling Ling thought, when it came to love matters of his own. He only looked so smart from the outside. But he was hopelessly lost in intellectualization on the inside. This man had fallen head over heels in love with Samantha from the moment he saw her at the Equinox playing with the silver teaspoon and when he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, smelling her skin. But he was too intellectual to realize it, holding on to the nostalgic memory of his dead wife—God rest her blessed soul and sweet sweet face. For who could compete with the dead? Ling Ling further thought. No one. Exactly. No one. It was pathetic. David Chang—so smart, so blind, so dumb ... so man. That night, Ling Ling told him she wanted to move on. She had met an older Shanghainese man. A composer and conductor at the Shanghai Orchestra, Zhuang was mostly lost in his own world of music until he met Ling Ling. Even her name was musical. Most artists are selfish people but Zhuang seemed to genuinely care for this middle-aged but still very attractive single mother in Shanghai. He did not mind Pei Pei. Artists tend to have the latitude to accept the fruit of human folly. Zhuang understood her dilemma through the years and respected that she did not abort Pei Pei. In fact, he was anti-abortion and this endeared Ling Ling

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all the more to him, as he imagined her hardships as a single mother when nothing was further from the truth given Ling Ling’s status in Shanghai’s circles of influence. Zhuang was mildly angry that David did not marry her 10 years ago. So now, Ling Ling who has found new love wanted to set up home with the 55-year-old professorial looking Zhuang. She was in love with his bold vision for Chinese music and wanted to support the artist as he completed this last phase of his creative life. It also enhanced her image as a woman of the world in the eyes of the Chinese, this bold step to live with an artiste of Zhuang’s stature. Ling Ling and David then agreed that Pei Pei should come to Singapore in two years time and attend school at Hwa Chong International, entering Secondary One. Hwa Chong had a lovely boarding school. Pei Pei will do well and will be close to her father. She can return home to her mother every holiday and Ling Ling could visit four times a year. It was time to reverse the parenting role. David did not disagree. Pei Pei was also his child. And if this is how the gods would play it, he would do his part to raise her for the next eight years. It all came together somehow in some pattern as if some cosmic force had something to do with these few souls struggling to make sense of their wealth and privileges in life. David shook his head at that thought. Crazy. He just had to decide what he will do with Samantha. This is the only question that is of importance. Should he divorce her now after nine over years of contracted marriage? In a few months, everything changes. She will get half of what he owned.

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With this thought, a truck rammed into his car, smashing into the door of the Mercedes. The impact was shattering. The black Merc spun and skidded off. They were at the turn-off junction from Outram Road to the Central Expressway. They were about to make a turn into the expressway, making their way back to Bukit Timah. The truck came flying down the opposite side and skipped the traffic light. David’s door, being on the right, took the full impact of the speeding truck. Strong though the German car was, the door buckled under such a hit. The transfer of that force onto David’s body, seat belt on and all, was full and its effect, swift. When the Merc spun onto the road divider, David was already in a state of shock. David’s last view before he passed out was that of Ahmad being buffered by the huge airbag that had exploded from the steering wheel immediately on impact. He also heard his own ribs crack.

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24

The doctors and nurses at the Accident & Emergency department of Tan Tock Seng hospital were on alert. The ambulance had brought in an accident case. One very dazed Malay driver called ‘Ahmad’ when he was asked for his name, an unconscious, tall, and very well-built man in his 50s, and a white collared tee-shirted Chinese man with bad teeth and bow legs. A logo on the blood stained tee-shirt of the bad teeth Chinese man showed that he probably worked for the Singapore popiah king. Someone then called the popiah company immediately. The nurses in Tan Tock Seng were trained to notice everything. And where they were not trained professionally, they had learnt from experience. The tall man wore an Aigner shirt. This was not a nobody, they knew on sight, unless it was a fake shirt. But it could not be a fake shirt because strapped on his hand was the Nautilus Patek Philippe. It was not some Japanese brand or the usual, to be expected, Rolex on housing contractors. It was a Patek Philippe. You had to watch out for these things. If he had worn a Casio, he could have been a cabinet minister and everyone knew exactly who the cabinet ministers were. The hospital occasionally flashed pictures of the ministers at nurses’

briefings for key departments. A&E was obviously a key department. No one wanted to be so stupid as to not recognize a Singapore Cabinet Minister if he was rolled in. The ministers wore deceptively simple clothes and used Casio watches, almost as a mark of having made it to Parliament and belonging to the ‘Singapore Casio Club’. Men wearing Patek Philippes in Singapore were fewer. And of course the nurses knew a Patek Philippe. There was plenty of luxury magazines lying around and besides which, nurses were women too. They scoured magazines and gossiped, just like other women. They returned home to their families and lives, but sometimes wondered if there could be a different fairy tale ending for them in life. Just like other women. Occasionally the single nurse daydreamed that she would meet her prince in one of her ward duties. But more often than not, she would be faced with grumpy old men who could not keep their urine in as she dashed for the bed-pans and nagging old women who would complain of some pain or another all through the night. “Auntie, auntie … ” the nurses would go as they went out of their way to comfort these old, sometimes abandoned and very sick women. Tonight, the nurses of the A&E department knew that a Mr Patek Philippe had been rolled in wearing a heavily blood covered Aigner shirt with broken ribs and was suffering from severe shock. Between the hospital, the police and business magazines, they figured out that he was the David Chang. A car was sent to the Chang’s residence immediately to inform his wife. Hearing the news, Imelda was terrified

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beyond her wits. Never ever having called her mam before in all her six years of service, she shook as she dialed Sam’s number using the policeman’s handphone. “Mrs Chang? May we speak with Mrs Chang please?” “Who’s this?” Sam asked, having just tumbled out of bed very ungracefully at the Sheraton. She looked utterly disarrayed. While they were lying in bed being good friends, her tee-shirt had shifted and exposed a part of her torso, her designer pants was now crumpled with one leg pursed higher up than the other. She had one dangling earring on and the other, which had fallen off as they played ‘tickle-monster’, lay on the nightstand. Her long usually silky hair was all tangled. Samantha Chang looked like the five-year-old little girl she used to be in her then smocked dress, all messed up from romping around the playroom with Chee Pin, crawling on their knees playing heffalumps from Winnie the Pooh. “Officer Joseph here, Mam. Are you Mrs Chang?” “Yes.” Sam’s heart was beating wildly. Both her hands held the Vertu instinctively as though by pressing it closer to her ears she could be there. Something has happened. Who? What? David? Her mother? What on earth did Andre do this time? It must be her mother. David is still at work, she thought glacing at her Cartier Panther watch. It’s only 11:00 pm. “Mam, there’s been an accident. Your husband is at Tan Tock Seng Hospital. Can we come get you? He is unconscious. You might want to see him. The doctors have some papers for you to sign.” Sam felt repulsed. She wanted to throw the Vertu far away from her.

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It cannot be true. Her David. HER David. My God. What has happened now? Was she being punished? Did she cause the accident by being here with Chee Pin? Externally, she said, “I’ll be there. A&E Tan Tock Seng? Ten minutes. I’ll be there.” Dizzy, she turned to Chee Pin. Clicked the handphone off. Shoved it into the Gucci, hurried for her sandals, speaking at the same time. “Pin, David was in an accident. He is at TTSH. I don’t know how or what. That was the police. I gotta go to him. He is my husband for Chrissakes.” Chee Pin got up fast. Pulled up his boots. Straightened his uniform. “Let’s go. Now. I’ll send you.” She was grateful. Her friend was here. Her legs felt funny, like they were about to give way from under her. Chee Pin held her arm and steered her out of the room. Gone was the careful planning of the earlier evening of not wanting to be seen. In its place was a sense of urgency. A mission. Get to the hospital fast. TTSH was just around the corner from the Sheraton Hotel. Just down Newton Road and up Moulmein. They will get there in 10 minutes if the traffic lights were kind. Fifteen, if they were not. Rush! Sam, usually graceful, never having learnt how to walk in a rush or a panic, was tripping all over herself, nearly falling a few times. Chee Pin caught her. Steady! He was concerned now. He had never seen Sam this way. The cool, collected girl, who became a woman of the world on the pages of magazines and newspapers, was fragmented. She repeated David’s name as she walked. She swore twice. It was very uncharacteristic of Sam.

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They got to TTSH. Sam spoke with the doctors. They were concerned about internal injury and bleeding. David was undergoing X-rays. They had to stabilize his condition. He was in severe shock. Here, these are his belongings. Please keep them. The watch, the wallet and the wedding band. Sam stared at the Cartier ring. Ten years. Tahoe. David. What was she thinking of ? Love? She did not realize love all these years? David. My goodness. She was a rich brat dreaming some fantastical dream about some life that she had given up when this man had given her everything she wanted in the 10 years. It was not the US$10 million or the US$20 million, or half his fortune hereon if the marriage lasted through next year. It was him, David, her husband. What on earth was she thinking of, comparing him to Chee Pin? She saw Chee Pin with new eyes. Yes, he was her lover once. Yes, she had given him her virginity. And yes, they had great fun laughing under the hot Singapore sun and running in the monsoon rain for shelter. But this man was now more like her brother than a husband-protector-lover. She had grown up with Chee Pin, this handsome, very talented pilot in his distinctive blue uniform with those proud wings emblazoned on his left chest. The wings that defined him and made him the man he was. She was proud of him but he was a ‘brother’ more than he was anything else to her. It was only her fantasies that made him her soul mate. Maybe there is more than one soul mate in life. Maybe Chee Pin was her soul mate for play and laughter and David was her soul mate in every other sense—

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intelligence, compassion, lifestyle, the drive for success, the hunger for more, the desire to see the world many times over, the love for trees and parks, the love for books and art, and yes, sex. David was there all these past years. She had been so blind. She had kept to herself in the marriage, not wishing to talk about things, thinking that he was self-absorbed in his ambitions, memories of Frieda and his care for Pei Pei and Ling Ling. What if she had spoken? Could he have loved her? Sometimes she thought he did, when he looked at her in the morning and she looked back out of the corner of her eye, watching him watching her. If David died tonight, it would not be money that concerned her. It would be the loss of future opportunities to set right what was so wrong in the last 10 years. He had only protected her with that pre-nuptial. He withheld nothing from her, save saying that he loved her. He stopped the liaison with Ling Ling when she confronted him. You can ask no more of a man. You can ask no more of so giant a man. Samantha felt her heart wrench apart. She now broke down. Sobbed uncontrollably. Chee Pin held her. The doctors walked away. A nurse came along and showed them where to wait. Chee Pin’s phone rang. Sam was still sobbing with the occasional spasm in her body shaking with emotions. It was May on the line. “Pin, where are you? I’m worried.” “At TTSH. With Sam. David’s been in an accident. You okay?” Chee Pin’s thoughts raced to his wife and their comfortable little home. She had given him much support, this small woman with a big heart and bubbly

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laughter. She may not be the sophisticate that Sam was but Chee Pin wished she were with him there and then. He needed her rock-like strength that anchored his crazy life as a pilot. Colonel Raj was right. A pilot’s wife was an important anchor in their lives and pilots who married pretty young things often found themselves depressed before long. Those who had the common sense to marry stable women who were there for them whatever the pressures at work—those pilots succeeded. Which was why top officers often seemed to have wives who were not very distinguished-looking but love seemed to be always strong and stable between them. This was not something the young would understand, looking on so critically at formal functions—all these top pilots look so dashing in their Number One uniforms and all their wives hardly ever matched them in handsomeness. But it was the wonderful, rock-stable wives who were their anchors and without them, those dashing pilots would be quite lost. That was what Col Raj was trying to say to his young colleagues when he retired. He was praising the virtue of air force wives. Not many understood his message that night. It took the passing of time. Chee Pin now did. May was his anchor and it is May who supports his first love—flying. Someone like Samantha can only compete with that love and it would never work. Never. A pilot must fly. That is his life. “I’m fine. Adele is asleep. You want me to come down? I’ll wake the maid to look after Adele. I can be there in half an hour.” “Yes. Please come. You need to hold Sam for us. She needs you too.”

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So the three of them waited through the night. The doctors strode in and out. Sam fell asleep in May’s arms. Chee Pin called his air base to say that he needed emergency leave the next day. May stroked Sam gently, feeling her pain. 5:00 am came. Dr Alex walked in. “Mrs Chang, your husband’s condition is stable. He has two fractured ribs. So far no other injury to internal organs. We have moved him into his own room. He is under close observation. Do you want to see him?” Sam got up shakily, May holding her. Chee Pin stood beside them. They nodded. “Only Mrs Chang please. No other relatives.” “We’ll walk her up. Where is David?” Chee Pin asked. Up in the ward, Sam found strength returning. She realized that David needed her now and she must ensure that things are set in place. Someone had to call the office later and inform them. That would set a series of activities in motion, including informing the Stock Exchange. David Chang was David Chang. There were responsibilities here that went beyond them and their immediate emotions. Staff, shareholders, directors, business associates … there will be many questions asked and even more responses needed. The PR firm must be alerted to craft the right message. They must get things right from the start so that Chang-Pewajaran did not go down, no matter what. When you live this life, your life is no longer personal even in an accident. There is an accountability, a responsibility for the many others who depend on you for direction and clarity.

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She will call Terence Chan after this. Terence as Chief Operating Officer must know that the Chairman and CEO had been in an accident. He will take over the work. But Sam must watch over him for David. Will David recover? Will his business acumen be affected by the accident? Entering the room, looking at David with bandages, casting and tubes running out of his body to help him breathe and to stabilize his blood pressure, Samantha wondered how it was that she did not see the frailty of human life all these years. She had taken her husband for granted. She had imagined him and herself immortal in her own immaturity. She walked up, stroked his hair. He was heavily sedated and breathing deeply. She kissed his forehead gently. His eyelid flickered as though in recognition of her touch. Then she walked out. It was pointless to stay. She had work to do that morning. Chang-Pewajaran was on her mind. She did not live the last 10 years of her life for her father and grandfather to see this company go to smithereens now because of David’s accident. To the world, she and David’s children’s would have been the owners of David’s shares should he have died that night. They would continue to hold the controlling stake and she the largest portion of that. The show must therefore go on. She was Ng’s daughter. This was really half her company, regardless of what the documents actually said. It was her grandfather’s, her father’s and now, it was hers. Samantha grew up that night. She became a woman.

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25

Chee Pin and May forced Samantha to take some breakfast. Before that, she excused herself to call Terence Chan to inform him. She demanded to see the public relations agency to ensure right messaging was done. She informed Terence that she wants to be at the emergency board meeting. They must coordinate what has to be said to the public. The company’s share price was paramount. Leadership must not look affected, no matter what. She then called David’s private attorney to check on her rights to the shares as wife of David Chang. Few people knew about the pre-nuptial. Whatever their private reality, the Changs had preserved an image of being sweethearts, holding hands to affirm the illusion, being picked up in public places, small affectionate kisses on the cheek and gentle teasings at public functions. To the Changs, it was a game they had devised together, part consciously, part subconsciously as two people playing out their roles as heads of an empire, albeit business. Perhaps love had crept in quietly as the two actors set about working out their respective parts on a stage called marriage. Perhaps. Whatever it was, the Singaporean public clearly saw them as the nation’s

golden couple and Singapore’s Sweethearts. Even the ministry’s family service desk wanted to promote them as that golden couple except that they were far too different from the common person and they represented a lifestyle that few can comprehend. The Changs have played to an audience in good times and the test of their performance was now here in a crisis. How will people perceive them? How will people perceive her? Will people believe that she would be the inevitable owner of David’s shares? If so, her block of shares would become the single largest block by any single shareholder, even if David had died without a will. No one knew about the pre-nuptial—it could be torn up and no one would be the wiser. Chang-Pewajaran would continue to be and she would have a large say. And no one knew about his recent will. In a matter of a few weeks, it would have been the 10th year of their marriage. If neither serves the other separation papers in the coming weeks, the pre-nup would lapse. His will, drawn up two years ago, stated that when the pre-nup ended his children would have no further claim to his estate than what he had given them when he was alive. And that if he had died before the prenup lapsed, she would get 80 per cent of his holdings as she had been with him for at least a total of eight years by then. David had always been fair to her and his children. Barely able to eat the bread in front of her, Sam looked at May and Chee Pin. She was glad that the silly groping stopped where it did last night. This morning, under bright lights and in harsh reality, life was so much clearer.

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She felt no guilt looking at May, and instead, only familiar love and appreciation for the both of them. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what else to say. Thank you, the both of you.” May, though puzzled at how Chee Pin happened to be there at that time and not wanting to guess too much yet, said, “Take care. We will be here for you,” stressing the ‘we’. Chee Pin with his arm around his wife, squeezed May’s shoulder slightly and added, “Sam, we are family.” Sam nodded. He was right. He was family. Then she remembered her mother and called her. Pamela went into hysterics of course, yelled for Andre who was in the bathroom singing away, without a care in the world in his baritone voice, thinking of that glorious lunch he would be having with Mrs Yuki, to whom Pamela had introduced him to previous week. Pamela did not know it but sometimes Andre shared his personal services with some of her friends in order to win their accounts for the PAMNG fund. Mrs Yuki was a rather lovely lady of Japanese descent who was married to a Yukisomo, and was now widowed and sitting on US$8 million without an inkling of what to do next. He, Andre, knew exactly what had to be done and how to do it. He was the world’s best fund manager when it came to older women’s money. They hardly minded the lower rates of return if the peripheral services were interesting enough. Ballroom dancing was passé. They also did not need sex, these older women. Just the excitement of the possibility of sex. That was sufficient. But of course, if they did need

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the occasional slap and tickle, that can be arranged too. He could always call on the dancing instructors he knew and the network of toy-boys out there to provide such services if he did not fancy these women for himself. He called this People Management Services and believe it or not, PMS was written into the company’s objectives in the Memorandum of Articles. Singapore Registrar of Companies must have wondered at that. He, Andre, however, was the PMS expert. “Mother. Please calm down ... No. Don’t come down. NO ... just stay at home. I’ll call you later. Yes. Yes ... we are at Raffles Hospital. No ... No. What’s that? I can’t hear you. Bad line. No battery.” Click. Sam rolled her eyes. She had shut her mother off midsentence. Now she switched off her handphone. She did not want to talk to Pamela that morning. No, thank you. Her mother! She will never change. Let her go hassle those poor nurses at Raffles Hospital. It will be half a day before she finally finds them at TTSH. Gawd, what a woman. And that Andre creature. What a man. Sam got up to leave, saying “Bye. I need to go. See you both later. Thank you.” Chee Pin got up and came around to her side of the table. Hugged her as a brother would a sister, then kissed her on the forehead. “Take care, dearest.” Sam nodded. Tip-toed and kissed his chin. He was still taller, especially when she was in her flats. May sat and watched the both of them. Sam left. May spoke, “How was last night?”

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Surprised, Chee Pin looked at his wife and wondered how much she knew. May kept silent, fiddled with the buttons of her cheap cotton blouse. Finally, her own emotions were coming to the surface. She was shaking as she cried. Chee Pin reached out to hold his wife. “Nothing happened. Nothing,” and he said glad that it was the truth. “Something could have,” May continued. “Yes,” Chee Pin said. “Something could have, but nothing did.” “Good,” May said, relieved. “Good. It is finally over.” The illusion of the princess was broken. Her husband has finally awakened. Like the spell of the Snow Queen on Kay, Samantha had loomed large in her marriage with this man. Samantha was always there in his sub-conscious. The perfect princess. Possibly even the perfect orgasm in his mind. Nothing would have satisfied him until the spell was broken. Was the spell now finally broken? That was her question. It was not even important if the two of them had slept together if in so doing, the spell broke. What other way would there be to wake her husband up, and for him to embrace her, May, fully? What other way was there when he had been caught in some dream of a fantasy princess for the last 10 years, replaying images and occasionally fingering the fateful note that said ‘I’ve changed’. None. At the risk of losing him forever, she took the bet that afternoon to call out to Samantha at The Regent Singapore. She had meant to find her. No, more than that, she, May, was determined to find Samantha and confront

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this issue once and for all. Hence the endless ice-creams for Adele, knowing that Sam would turn up one day and she would call out to her, causing a string of events to unfold, which will free her husband one way or another. For herself or for Sam, it did not matter who he chose in the end. Just free him. And her, May. May was not as simple as she looked. But she was every bit as loving as she appeared.

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26

The days passed. David regained consciousness on Day Four but remained heavily sedated. Ling Ling flew in from Shanghai on Day 11. With Pei Pei. Both held his hand under Sam’s eyes. “So this is Ling Ling,” Sam thought when she met her. Zhuang followed closely everywhere Ling Ling went. Like a loyal Shih Tzu. Pei Pei cried looking at her father but like most children became excited about a new place, Singapore! She wanted to go up the Singapore Flyer. From staying at the Marriot Hotel that was closest to the hospital, all three moved into Chang’s residence. David’s two boys flew home; they were now men really, running their father’s business in Europe and in the States. Elaine, who was based in Singapore but knew nothing of the arrangements of her father’s second marriage, tried to comfort Samantha. As a step-mother, she had been noninterfering. If not for the fact that she was only a few years older than Elaine, there would have been less resistance to the marriage from her and the two ‘boys’. Sam was too busy to bother with these family details. She passed instructions to Imelda and Ah Lai, the cook. She had more crucial things to attend to. The pre-nuptial

deadline for one. It was in eight weeks’ time. It has been a full two weeks since the accident. If David was not fully awake at that time, what would it mean? How would the doctor’s report impact the status? Would he be deemed impaired on the date of the deadline? These things only mattered because she then knew to what extent she had to begin working out leadership in the company. Yes, there was a board. But the controlling stake was the controlling stake. And the person who controlled that controlled a lot in the company. She must know what to do if and when the time came for her to act. The lawyers told her that the document made no provision for when either party was deemed impaired. In a way, this meant that if she was made a vegetable in coma a few weeks before the deadline and if David did not throw her out in her comatose state, she would be deemed to own the company with him, vegetable or not, come that 10 year deadline. That was the argument the lawyers made. So if he was made a vegetable a few years before the deadline and she continued to be his wife, looking after him, she should also be deemed to own the company with him, vegetable or not. In other words the lawyers said that even if David was now impaired, the timeline for the agreement should run. It should not be affected by his condition as it should not be affected by hers. If he became a vegetable and was unable to assume his role on the board, then his alternate director would. She as the wife would probably have a case to remove the alternate if her husband is incapacitated as she could be

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deemed to have an interest in the values of those shares, more than the appointed alternate director who was really just one of his staff. It made sense and it seemed fair. If David had died after the deadline, she would by virtue of his will become the controlling shareholder, thereby owning his block and the shares. If David had died before the deadline and in the last two years leading to the deadline, the recent will kicked in and the will accorded her the controlling stake. These issues occupied Sam’s mind. She might be sociology trained, with a natural love for fashion and the arts, but she had a mind keener than half the men on David’s board. She just never took the interest as she had been too lost for too long and she had left things to the men in her life, her father and then later, to David. David’s accident was a wake up call. Day 18. Ling Ling and her small entourage went home to Shanghai with promises to Pei Pei that she would come to Singapore soon to study at Hwa Chong and that she can stay with Auntie Sa-man-tha. Sam said ‘Yes’. Pei Pei was an obligation. It will be done and done well. Day 22. David’s strength had been improving steadily. He smiled at her when she visited. They spoke quietly about things, avoiding the subject on the deadline. He stopped asking about the company when he saw her reading legal documents next to him and business proposals by his senior managers. Somehow, Samantha must have convinced the board that she needed to be in the loop of things and somehow the board must have agreed. Perhaps she spoke with each board member individually. Perhaps they thought it was no harm, given

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the socialite fashionista image she projected, how could she know enough to contribute to their discussions, but if this made her feel better, so be it. They already knew she was working on contingency plans should David die. Diana Musa had come to see her dozy boss 13 days into the accident to tell him to recover well and not to worry. The plans he had put in place in case of accidents were all working like clockwork. Chang-Pewajaran showed a dip in share price but operations were not affected. All major deals were put on hold until he was well enough to make those decisions himself before convincing his board. Diana Musa also updated David on what his wife had been doing and asking to see. In the hospital room, Sam sat and sometimes read to him. They watched Bloomberg and CNN. Sometimes she brought an old movie or two from the house. David did not like movies, preferring to read. So she read aloud to him to relieve his boredom due to immobility. Day 30. He was to be discharged. It would take much longer for the ribs to heal completely. He was mentally alert by now. He could not wait to take back management and board control of Chang-Pewajaran. Home. The next management meeting with his key staff would be held in his living room so that he David could continue to run the company regardless. He was mentally alert though the pain was sometimes sharp. He slept on the super kingsized bed. Samantha moved to the adjoining room, not wishing to rock the bed and to give the bones time to heal. Both were aware that there were many things to be said and that the time must soon come for them to do so.

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27

It was winter. 2008. Winter in London is usually unpleasant even to the Londoners. It is never cold enough for snow and all one gets is the slosh slosh slosh. In the preceeding months, David had plunged himself into work as soon as he was able to. The global economic crisis took its toll on the company. The shareholders were relieved that the company was not too unduly exposed and that it will be able to weather the storm ahead. David was always an exceptional leader. He had had to neglect Sam in the last months. Two deals were closed despite the economic climate and he needed to focus on the business to finish the backlog created by his hospitalisation. Sam hung on watching her husband work tirelessly in spite of the occasional pain he felt. They were already in year 10 of their marriage. A few extra months made no difference. The pre-nuptial had lapsed quietly—they both had an important conversation ahead of them but it was not one that should be rushed. It was now six months after the accident and that comical night with Chee Pin at the Sheraton, when David came home with two first class Singapore Airlines tickets. He had just signed the very last batch of papers to buy

over a company in the Middle East that afternoon. He had finally caught up with all the work in the office that was left unattended while he was recuperating from his injury. He called her. Told her that they were leaving for London that night on the evening flight. “Sam, please pack for the trip,” he said. “Remember it will be cold.” Sam was used to his last minute surprises. This was how it started in any case. What looks like minimal planning would have been planned. “Trust him,” he had said, and she had all those years, unwillingly sometimes, forgettingly other times, and gratefully most times. David’s surprises were never unpleasant, whether it was the small jewellery boxes by her bedside sometimes, a dinner function with the latest gown all picked out for her by her favorite designer, or the Italian chef who turned up one night all ready to cook up a storm in the Changs’ residence because David convinced Alberto, the great Italian maestro, to cook a private dinner just for the two of them. Sam often remembered the flower girls at Tahoe. Diana Musa was one heck of a personal assistant through the years. So too was Charlotte who came up to terminal three to pick them up. “Hi Charlotte,” Sam said. “Good evening, Madam. May I take your bag?” Charlotte was now older. Gone was the shapely bosom and round J-Lo buttocks. In its place, a portly looking matron, still attractive, now with short blonde hair. She had three children and continued to work for ‘Mr Chang

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who comes in from Singapore once a while’ but required her to maintain his cars here in London otherwise. In her cool gray uniform and cap, she walked ahead of the Changs. “Same place, Sir?” David nodded. The car swung into the Royal Gardens Hotel again. Ten years later, Sam thought, it is now 10 years later. They had not been back since that spring before they were married. They had gone into London quite often in the last 10 years but never back there. The Royal Gardens was not David’s usual choice of hotel. It was however a most beautiful and superbly appointed hotel privately held by the Khoo family who also owned the Goodwood Park. Sam made a mental note to stay at the Royal Gardens from there on. This was probably going to be their special place in London in her memory, whatever happens later that day. David got out. Slight pain. The ribs were still healing. This time, the concierge came running out. “Mr Chang, sir. Can we help?” “Please take the bags up. The suite.” “Yes sir.” Another peon appeared. With a bag. David took the bag. Same brown bag. Amazing, Sam wondered. The man I am married to is a control freak. Though he does not look it. He is totally in charge. People appear on cue. Perhaps even I do too, she pondered. David walked. This time she led the way. Winter brings a different feel to the park. The trees were bare,

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dark against the gray skies, and the feeling is subdued. The air nips. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, grateful for the fur-lining and the deceptively lightweight new material that trapped air so well to insulate the body. It was her brand new winter coat that she had picked up from the new label ‘G’. Nice red. Gold buttons. But the design was less important than the technology in this winter coat. The fabric kept one very warm while being featherlight. Charlotte had gone ahead even further ahead with the hot chocolate and had laid a woolen throw over the same wooden bench. Somehow, Sam was not surprised. How did his people know what to do at the right time? She had no idea. But they did. Sam helped to lower David onto the wooden bench, aware that some movements still caused discomfort and minor pain. She then sat down. “Not a tiger penis this time too?” she asked and laughed. David, not catching her private joke, looked at her quizzically for a moment. He knew his wife had an overactive imagination in certain situations. Best ignore it. Tiger penis is an aphrodisiac. He had never tried it. It was just a clever gimmick concocted by some entrepreneurial cook. The Chinese men took it in groups as a laugh, patting each other’s back in some conspiratorial manner over business dinners that often blew budgets and that were often quite unnecessary. At 53, tiger penises were not of interest to David Chang and he was mildly amused that his wife would think they could be.

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Quietly, he took out an egg and tomato sandwich. Passed it to her. Took out another, looked at it appreciatingly and took a bite. He sighed. Contentment. “It’s been a long time, Samantha.” Catching his mood, Sam settled down. Maybe this is his timing for that big chat they had to have. It sure looks like it. “Mmm, mmm,” she said, agreeing. A long time. Ten years. A couple, clearly in their late 60s, sat roughly 10 metres away in front of them. Sam observed the love between them. The same thought passed through both their heads—after a lifetime of honest disagreements, possibly any two people can find agreement, peace and harmony together. If they lasted long enough and if they respected each other’s essence. A young child ran in front of them. “Hahahaha. Mummmieeee,” the child went, breaking the quiet of the park. The mother followed fast behind afraid that her darling child will fall and hurt himself in the snow. David reached out and held her hand. Both had gloves on so she did not feel his warmth. He squeezed her hand gently. It was nice. “Do you love me?” he asked. She choked. That was completely unexpected. She had been expecting another motivational talk from David her guru, under those dark bare trees. Most likely something about some tree, some life, some leaf, some thing. But most definitely not something like ‘do you love me?’ Has David even ever used that word before when it came to her? No. He remembered Frieda with love.

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Elaine with love. Pei Pei with love. His two sons. The dobermanns at home. But Samantha, his wife? He had not once used that word with her, not even in their throes of passion had he used that word. Love? He had mocked it once, she thought. Or perhaps she had mocked it once and she heard herself in his voice. “Don’t you know?” Sam asked quietly. “Turn around. Look at me,” David said. She did. She was crying, gentle tears streaming down her face. The preceeding months had been so long. That ridiculous scene with Chee Pin at the Sheraton playing itself over and again in her mind the last few months, cold fear that gripped her when she grabbed her bag, rushed out in her sandals, arrived at the hospital, nearly collapsing in her emotional upheaval. The months thereafter she had watched her husband recover, gain strength and become strong enough to run their company. The overhanging anxiety and the many long meetings she had with Diana Musa to understand the company’s state of affairs, reading all that Diana could pass to her. Did she love this man? What has love got to do with it anyway? He was her life. Chang-Pewajaran, her father, her grandfather, all they built, all David built these years. They were her life. Love? Wordlessly, David took her in her arms, shifting slightly to accommodate the minor pain he felt in his

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ribs. Yes, perhaps his young wife has now finally grown up. Yes, perhaps now she finally understood the path that was hers. They were born into positions of privilege or they have worked their way there. With that wealth came the weight of accountability, responsibility and leadership. Without that, it would go in a much shorter time than it took to climb up that steep hill of accumulation and constant building. Love in its usual parlance was such a weak word to describe what they had. They shared a life. A purpose. Is that love? And they have both known intense passion in each other’s touch. Was that love? Love? Yes, they both knew love. But not as teenagers or young couples. But as two much older people now, despite the 20-year difference. They were two people who understood that lives are held together by decisions and will continue to be. And that emotions can make these decisions richer if managed right. So yes, they loved but it went beyond emotions alone. Love constructed what life was for the both of them. It was more and deeper. There was no more Chee Pin, no more Ling Ling, no more others in their love together, but yet, they were also all there, all a part of David’s and Sam’s lives, inextricable and enmeshed. Was this love? Snuggling up to her husband, Samantha whispered into his ear, “David, please kiss me.” David looked at her. His wife. He kissed her.

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No Hollywood. No make-believe dream. Just a wonderful human reality where two souls meet on a single path called Life. He kissed her. And in that kiss, now, David and Samantha came home.

Somewhere in the background, music streamed from a small portable radio. George Benson’s Love of My Life could be heard as the magical refrain sank into their consciousness ... You are the love of my life I knew it right from the start The moment I looked at you You found a place in my heart No one’s ever touched me Quite the way you touched me People search a life time To find what we have You are the love of my life One thing that's good in this life I'll spend the rest of my days Just loving you

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About The Author Keshara Young lives in the ASEAN, making Singapore her home. She is married with two wonderful children who she adores. A new ager, Keshara loves art and travels extensively. Her first love is writing and she wrote her first story, Pixie Lane, when she was just eight years old, dutifully attempting to imitate the genius of Enid Blyton. Keshara is a spiritual name, meaning ‘skywalker’, or the Yogi who transcends to walk the skies. It is Keshara's wish for the human race to transcend through the power of love and to see ‘our true God-selves’ as expressed by her favorite author, Kahlil Gibran. Her writings are dedicated to the magical journeys of the human soul through earth life. The Love of Her Life is the first of three books in a saga—The Dreamcatcher and The Keeper of Secrets are currently being written as the characters unveil themselves and their messages to her.

Other books in the asian chic series: