Crazy Rich Asians

“Don’t talk nonsense! No one is sleeping in the park. Dai gu cheh is calling other hotels right now,” Eleanor said, thinking that her son was getting far too precocious for his own good.

“Oooh, I want to sleep in the park!” Astrid squealed in delight. “Nicky, remember how we moved that big iron bed at Ah Ma’s house into the garden and slept under the stars one night?”

“Well, you two can sleep in the loong kau^‖ for all I care, but I’ll take the big royal suite, where I can order club sandwiches with champagne and caviar,” Eddie said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie. When have you ever had caviar?” his mother asked.

“At Leo’s house. Their butler always serves us caviar with little triangles of toasted bread. And it’s always Iranian beluga, because Leo’s mum says Iranian caviar is the best,” Eddie declared.

“Connie Ming would say something like that,” Alexandra muttered under her breath, glad her son was finally away from that family’s influence.

Inside the telephone booth, Felicity was trying to explain the predicament to her husband over a crackly connection to Singapore.

“What nonsense, lah! You should have demanded the room!” Harry Leong fumed. “You are always too polite—these service people need to be put in their place. Did you tell them who we are? I’m going to call up the minister of trade and investment right now!”

“Come on, Harry, you’re not helping. I’ve called more than ten hotels already. Who knew that today was Commonwealth Day? Every VIP is in town and everyone is booked solid. Poor Astrid is soaked through. We need to find someplace for tonight before your daughter catches her death of cold.”

“Did you try calling your cousin Leonard? Maybe you could take a train straight to Surrey,” Harry suggested.

“I did. He’s not in—he’s grouse hunting in Scotland all weekend.”

“What a bloody mess!” Harry sighed. “Let me call Tommy Toh over at the Singapore embassy. I’m sure they can sort things out. What is the name of this bloody racist hotel?”

“The Calthorpe,” Felicity answered.

“Alamak, is this the place owned by Rupert Calthorpe-something-something?” Harry asked, suddenly perking up.

“I have no idea.”

“Where is it located?”

“It’s in Mayfair, close to Bond Street. It’s actually a rather beautiful hotel, if it wasn’t for this horrible manager.”

“Yes, I think that’s it! I played golf with Rupert what’s his name and a few other Brits last month in California, and I remember him telling me all about his place. Felicity, I have an idea. I’m going to call this Rupert fellow. Just stay put and I’ll call you back.”

Ormsby stared in disbelief when the three Chinese children burst through the front door again, barely an hour after he had evicted the whole lot of them.

“Eddie, I’m getting myself a drink. If you want one, go get it yourself,” Nick said firmly to his cousin as he walked toward the lounge.

“Remember what your mummy said. It’s too late for us to drink Cokes,” Astrid warned as she skipped through the lobby, trying to catch up with the boys.

“Well then, I’ll get a rum and coke,” Eddie said brazenly.

“What on God’s green earth …” Ormsby bellowed, storming across the lobby to intercept the children. Before he could reach them, he suddenly caught sight of Lord Rupert Calthorpe-Cavendish-Gore ushering the Chinese women into the lobby, seemingly in the midst of conducting a tour. “And my grandfather brought over René Lalique in 1918 to do the glass murals you see here in the great hall. Needless to say, Lutyens, who supervised the restoration, did not approve of these art nouveau flourishes.” The women laughed politely.

The staff quickly snapped to attention, surprised to see the old lord, who hadn’t set foot inside the hotel in years. Lord Rupert turned toward the hotel manager. “Ah, Wormsby, isn’t it?”

“Yes, m’lord,” he said, too dazed to correct his boss.

“Would you kindly have some rooms readied for the lovely Mrs. Young, Mrs. Leong, and Mrs. Cheng?”

“But sir, I just—” Ormsby tried to protest.

“And Wormsby,” Lord Rupert continued dismissively, “I am entrusting you to inform the staff of a very important announcement: as of this evening, my family’s long history as custodians of the Calthorpe has come to an end.”

Ormsby stared at him in utter disbelief. “M’lord, surely there’s some mistake—”

“No, no mistake at all. I sold the Calthorpe a short while ago, lock, stock, and barrel. May I present the new mistress, Mrs. Felicity Leong.”

“WHAT?”