The Princeling of Nanjing Page 4

  A few moments later Amanda led them across the lobby to the foyer. The doors to the Rose Ballroom were closed. She opened them and stepped inside. Ava followed and then froze.

  “This is unbelievable,” she said. “Where did you get all those silk pennants and banners? Did you raid a movie set about a Chinese warlord?”

  “They were custom-made. We ordered sixty of the long banners to cover the walls and surround the stage, and forty of the pennants to put on poles. There will be a soft breeze flowing through here when the show starts. They look even more spectacular when they flutter.”

  The pennants and banners were a blaze of colours. The backgrounds were solid white, red, or gold, and running down the middle of each one in a contrasting colour was Chinese script that read A SINGLE SPARK CAN SET THE WORLD ON FIRE.

  “The front rows on each side of the stage are reserved for our VIPs,” Amanda said. “There’s a name on every seat. After you greet people at the door, help them find their spot. Here are seating plans. You and May have assigned seats, but you should probably stay by the door. We don’t want anyone trying to come in once the show starts.”

  “Unless it’s Carrie Song from Lane Crawford or Elsa Ngan from Vogue,” May said pointedly.

  “Of course,” Amanda said.

  “I assume people who aren’t on the seating plan can sit where they want?” Ava said.

  “Yes.”

  “Any other rules we need to be aware of?”

  “Such as?”

  “Can people use cellphones?”

  “Cameras, cellphones, tape recorders, notepads — they’re all permitted. We want people to have something to rely on other than their memories.”

  “Is that our camera crew that’s set up now?” Ava asked, pointing inside.

  “Yes, we’re filming the show. We’ll send a DVD to everyone who’s here, and we’ll use the footage for all kinds of marketing campaigns over the next few months.”

  “You sound like you’ve been doing this for years,” Ava said.

  Amanda raised an eyebrow. “I’m just obeying orders, and believe me, neither the producer nor Clark is shy about telling us how things have to be done. I feel like I’m back at Sacred Heart Academy in Hong Kong with the nuns.”

  “We’ll try not to disappoint,” Ava said and smiled.

  “One last thing,” Amanda said. “We want noise.”

  “Really?”

  “The factory ladies and a lot of Clark and Gillian’s friends are going to be here. We’ve told them already that we want to hear them clapping and cheering as loudly as possible. It won’t hurt to remind them.”

  “How will we know who they are?”

  “If they’re not on the seating plan, then assume that’s them,” Amanda said. “I’ll see you both after the show.”

  “So much for our front-row seats,” May said as Amanda left.

  “I like feeling useful,” Ava said.

  “Me too, I guess.”

  Ten minutes later a group of about twenty factory ladies arrived. It was still early, and they hung back from the ballroom door. Ava saw no reason why they should have to stand in the lobby, so she urged them to come inside. “You can sit anywhere except the front rows, and be sure to make lots of noise,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll hear us,” one of them said. “We’ve been waiting years for this.”

  Soon after, Clark and Gillian’s friends began to arrive. May and Ava took turns issuing instructions.

  Around a quarter to one, Xu’s plant manager, Wu, and the assistant, Fan, came to the entrance and asked for Ava. Ava introduced herself. The manager was deferential, while Fan looked painfully shy. She looked like a schoolgirl in a plain black skirt and white cotton blouse and with her hair in a ponytail. Ava walked them to the front row, where she showed them to the seats that would have been hers and May’s. “You can take pictures if you want, and please don’t be afraid to clap,” she told them.

  When she got back to the entrance, the rush had started. She and May took as many people to their seats as they could, but were soon simply directing them. Ava recognized Elsa Ngan from the night before, but the others who were seated in the front rows were just names on a piece of paper. May did know many of them and introduced some to Ava. One, a real estate tycoon from Hong Kong, made Ava laugh when he asked May if her new ushering job paid well.

  Just before one, Carrie Song arrived with a young woman who Ava assumed was her assistant. As Ava guided them to their seats, a light breeze began to circulate through the ballroom, and the pennants and banners fluttered.

  “This is very well done,” Song said, looking up and around the ballroom.

  Ava just made it back to the entrance as the lights dimmed. The strains of a traditional Chinese opera song began to play. The rather laborious melody surprised her. But then the room became completely dark, and a few seconds later the song ended.

  The silence was almost eerie. It felt as if they were drenched in blackness for much longer than the ten seconds or so it actually was.

  Onstage, a single sparkler came alive. When the sparkler went out, the room fell dark again. Ava counted to five, and then there was a crashing boom, and all at once the runway and the stage were dramatically lit. Clark stood in the centre of the stage with the dead sparkler held between the palms of his extended hands. He was shirtless, wearing only tight white linen slacks with a red scarf belt. His hair hung long and loose to his shoulders. He bowed, turned, and walked behind the curtain. Jacky Cheung’s voice filled the room with the opening words of the song “Blue Rain,” and the first model started down the runway.

  “I just felt a chill run right down my spine,” May said.

  Ava glanced sideways. Her friend’s eyes were locked on the stage.

  The factory women and Clark and Gillian’s friends were now standing, clapping and cheering. Ava felt their emotion; she thought about how many years of study, work, and struggle Clark had endured to get to this precise moment and her eyes began to water.

  Ava had seen only one collection of Clark’s clothes, and that was months before at the sample factory where they were deciding if they would invest in PÖ. The clothes had been made almost exclusively from linen, in a host of bright, vibrant colours. Now he’d expanded his use of materials to include textured weaves, silk jersey, and silk crepe, and he’d balanced the bright colours with black, grey, and muted browns.

  The clothes she’d seen at the factory had also been presented haphazardly. Now they were grouped by look, and it was obvious to Ava that the money the company had invested in hiring the producer and his team had been well worth it.

  Of the clothes she now saw on the runway, the jackets and coats were particularly inventive and breathtaking. They were of various lengths, many with asymmetrical hems, and were layered and wrapped and belted in an almost primitive way. Some had collars inspired by cheong­sams. Many were softly structured, with voluminous shoulders and sleeves.

  Ava was pleased to see that Clark hadn’t abandoned the beautiful needlework and intricate stitching that had characterized the early designs she’d seen, and his signature oddly shaped buttons of glass and semi-precious stone continued to make his pieces unique.

  As the show progressed, the music of Jacky Cheung morphed into that of Eason Chan and then Zhou Xuan, keeping the factory ladies and the Pos’ friends on their feet and making noise.

  “It’s almost over,” May said, looking at her watch. “I’ve never felt time move so fast.”

  Almost as soon as she spoke, the runway emptied and the song “Stand Up” blared from the speakers. It had been a hit for Leslie Cheung, one of the kings of Cantopop, who had committed suicide. Ava wondered if the final song was a tribute to Cheung, who was gay. The guests in the front rows were now standing. Ava wondered if Clark was waiting in the wings before coming out to take his bow.
Then a model walked onto the stage and stood with her head lowered. She wore a white, almost sheer linen coat that flared like a trumpet from her shoulders to her feet. The linen was lightweight, almost gossamer, and verged on translucent. An intricately embroidered high collar partially masked her face. The coat was cinched at the waist with a toggle that looked as though it was made from green jade.

  The music stopped.

  The model walked down the runway and stopped halfway. She was close enough now that Ava could see the words A SINGLE SPARK CAN SET THE WORLD ON FIRE stitched down both sides of the coat’s front.

  The model paused, threw her head back, and reached for the toggle. The coat slipped from her shoulders and onto the floor. Underneath she wore an evening dress that looked as if thin strands of liquid silver had been wrapped around her, strand by strand.

  The crowd began to chant Clark’s name.

  A group of models carrying red silk bags walked onto the stage. They moved down the runway and then parted to each side, revealing Clark standing alone in the centre. He raised his arms high and slowly turned to acknowledge the entire room. He was wearing a simple white cotton T-shirt with “PÖ” printed on it in red. The models reached into their bags and began to toss T-shirts into the crowd.

  “Don’t worry, we have enough shirts for everyone,” Amanda said from behind them.

  Ava jumped in surprise and turned to see Amanda, Chi-Tze, and Gillian. Each of them had bags stuffed with shirts.

  “We’re going to hand them out to everyone who didn’t get one,” she said.

  “Where did you come from?” Ava said.

  “Through the back corridors. Tell us, was the crowd this enthusiastic throughout?”

  “The audience was like this right from the start. You didn’t hear them?”

  “We were working, and it was so busy that we couldn’t concentrate on anything else.”

  “The show was unbelievable,” May said, her voice rising. “Gillian, you should be so proud of your brother. And the three of you, you should be proud of everything you’ve done to make this happen. I don’t care if we sell a single coat. The experience of this last half-hour was worth every dollar we’ve spent on PÖ since day one.”

  “We will sell coats,” Chi-Tze said. “I promise you that.”

  “And this won’t hurt,” Amanda said, looking at her phone. “I just got a text from Elsa. She wants to do a feature on Clark. She says she’s going to stay a few extra days, and she’s already asked the Hong Kong office to make arrangements for a photographer.”

  Before the group had a chance to react, the audience began to file out of the ballroom. The women offered T-shirts that were rolled up and tied with a strip of silk. Ava took one and opened it. The words THE SPARK WAS LIT and the date were printed under the PÖ logo. Ava stared at it. It was only a T-shirt, but she’d never owned one that meant so much.

  ( 5 )

  Ava opened the door to her hotel suite, feeling exhausted and exhilarated. Immediately after the show, she had met briefly with Carrie Song and her assistant, Laura Deng. Clark’s designs had impressed them and — without making a commitment — Carrie said she had told Laura to start the process of assessing how the clothes might be acquired and introduced at Lane Crawford and Joyce. Ava said the PÖ contacts for Laura would be Gillian and Chi-Tze, and she took her backstage to meet them. Commitment or none, the fact that Lane Crawford was showing interest was enough to make everyone at PÖ dizzy. Their excitement about Lane Crawford and the Vogue photo shoot hyped an already electric environment at the after-show party at the sample factory, which had been organized by the factory ladies and the Pos’ friends. Ava arrived there with May Ling in the late afternoon, and both of them got caught up in the excitement. Ava couldn’t remember the last time she had drunk and danced so much. It was almost ten when she made her escape in a taxi, leaving May and the rest of team at the party.

  She went directly to the hotel bed, looked at it lovingly, and was starting to step out of her dress when she saw the blinking red light on her hotel phone. She pulled her cellphone from her bag and saw two missed calls from Xu. She went to the hotel phone, guessing that any message would be from him.

  “I’m in the car coming back from Nanjing,” he said. “It’s past nine o’clock, and we’ve got another hour or so before we’re back in Shanghai. I’d like to see you tonight when I get back. Ring me and let me know if that’s possible.”

  “Shit,” Ava said. All she wanted to do was sleep. She contemplated calling him in the morning, but she knew she couldn’t. He had sounded worried.

  “Hey, it’s Ava,” she said when he answered her call.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the hotel. I just got back from the after-party at the sample factory in Pudong.”

  “I heard from Wu. He said the show was a huge success. He and Fan are thrilled that they’ll have a chance to make some of the clothes.”

  “They’re very nice people.”

  “Do you remember Auntie Grace?”

  “Of course.”

  “Fan is her niece.”

  “Ah, that explains why you told me to be nice to her,” she said. “And where are you?”

  “About twenty minutes from the hotel. If you’re up to it, I’ll drop by and get you. We’ll go to the house. Auntie Grace always has a pot of congee on the stove, and if you’re really hungry she can make a plate of the best noodles in Shanghai.”

  “I’m stuffed. I ate all night. I couldn’t eat a grain of rice.”

  “Then we’ll just have a drink.”

  “I’m close to being drunk already. I don’t think I can handle much more.”

  “Then you can drink tea and watch me drink Scotch.”

  “Xu, is everything okay?” she asked.

  “No, it isn’t,” he said quietly.

  “Tsai?”

  “Yes, Tsai and his father and his whole fucking family. I need to talk it out.”

  “Sounds like it could be a long talk.”

  “Could be.”

  “Then I’d better shower and put on some fresh clothes. I’ll come down to the lobby when I’m ready.”

  Ava knew that science said a shower would have no impact on her blood-alcohol level, wouldn’t cure jet lag, and wouldn’t make her any more alert, but she believed in the power of placebos; for her, warm, strong streams of water had somehow always worked. She stood in the shower for close to ten minutes and then quickly towelled herself dry. She threw on clean underwear, the PÖ T-shirt she’d got at the launch, and her Adidas training pants and jacket. She headed downstairs feeling, if not invigorated, at least refreshed.

  She almost walked right into Xu’s Mercedes when she exited the hotel. Suen was standing by the rear door. He opened it as soon as he saw her. She slid in and leaned over to kiss Xu on the cheek.

  “You’re lucky I checked my messages before going to bed,” she said. “If I’d gotten between those sheets I don’t know if anything could have wakened me.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I took a shower. It helped.”

  “To the house,” Xu said to the driver.

  “Were things that bad?” Ava asked as the car pulled away from the hotel.

  “Let’s not discuss that until we’re home,” Xu said.

  Xu lived in the French Concession, a neighbourhood primarily west of the Bund. The land had initially been ceded to the French in 1849, and the territory was expanded around 1920. Its original street layout and architecture were mainly French with a touch of other European styles, but after the Communists took over in 1949, some buildings were torn down and parts of the area were badly redeveloped, until a public outcry ended the destruction. Xu’s neighbourhood had escaped the Communist-style development and still had the aura of a European enclave. He lived in a cottage that was accessed through a narrow alleyway wi
th brick walls on both sides.

  She knew they were close to the house when the car slowed to a crawl and made a left turn down an alley with a fruit cart vendor at its entrance. The driver rolled down the window so Suen could talk to the vendor. Ava knew that at the other end of the alley was another fruit cart. They manned the alleyway twenty-four hours a day, and she was sure that under the piles of oranges and apples were a gun and an alarm.

  As the car moved down the narrow alleyway, a gate swung open to the left. They turned into a courtyard that was big enough to park three cars alongside a fish pond and a patio. Just inside the courtyard, two men flanked the gate, while a third stood near the door to the house.

  “I thought that after the issue with Guangzhou was resolved you wouldn’t need this much security,” Ava said.

  “I don’t think I’m in any particular danger, but security has become part of the structure, and Suen would be aggravated if I reduced it. Besides, I love it here and I don’t want to move,” Xu said.

  They left the car and began to walk towards the house. The front door opened before they reached it, and Ava found herself looking at a tiny grey-haired woman.

  “Auntie Grace,” she said.

  “Ava, I’m so happy to see you again.”

  “And I to see you,” Ava said, knowing that she was looking at the one woman in Xu’s life who could never be replaced. Auntie Grace had been Xu’s nanny from the day he was born and his housekeeper from the day he became head of the family.

  “I have congee,” she said.

  “I wish I could eat, but I’m stuffed.”

  “Noodles?”

  “Auntie, I can’t.”

  “Xu?” she said.

  “I’ll have noodles,” he said. “But first, bring me that bottle of whisky I’ve been saving and let me get started on that.”

  Auntie Grace stepped back into the house so they could pass. “I don’t like it when he needs that whisky,” she said to Ava as if Xu wasn’t standing next to her.

  “We’ll go to the kitchen,” Xu said, pretending not to hear.