9781804941317

‘Wickedly delectable’

York

‘Heavenly and hilarious’ Plum Sykes ‘Hugely fun’ i Newspaper

New

Times ‘Truly delicious’ Daisy Buchanan

About the Author

K EVIN K WAN is the author of the international bestsellers Crazy Rich Asians, China Rich Girlfriend, Rich People Problems, and Sex and Vanity. Crazy Rich Asians was a number one New York Times bestseller and major motion picture and has been translated into forty languages. In 2018, Kevin was named one of the one hundred most influential people in the world.

by Kevin Kwan

Crazy Rich Asians

China Rich Girlfriend

Rich People Problems

Sex and Vanity

Also

‘Truly delicious – it’s everything I want a book to be, exhilarating, clever and fun. Life is better when I’m in the middle of a Kevin Kwan book. I didn’t want this to end. I think it’s his best yet.’

Daisy Buchanan

‘Salacious and addictive, every page left me giggling with glee.’

Annie Lord

‘This novel is vintage Kwan and this time we take a hilarious dive into the Anglo-Asian billionaire scene which is populated with fierce Chinese moms, power-mad aunties, penniless English Lords, fabulous weddings, stately homes and too many secrets to mention. Imagine Crazy Rich Asians mated with Saltburn and you’ve got Lies and Weddings – a heavenly summertime read!’

Plum Sykes

‘Expect glorious, salacious fun.’

i Newspaper

‘Mr. Kwan knows how to deliver guilty pleasures . . . wickedly delectable.’

New York Times

‘A plot with more twists than an Elsa Peretti for Tiffany corkscrew.’

Financial Times

‘Endlessly entertaining . . . you can’t be in a bad mood while reading this book.’

Cosmopolitan

‘An irresistible tale of eye-popping glamour and shocking deception . . . This romantic romp circles the globe, hitting luxury locations and high comic notes in classic Kwan style.’

People

‘A hilarious, richly detailed family affair that takes place around the world, from Hawaii to Venice to Los Angeles to the English countryside.’

Time

‘If you loved Crazy Rich Asians, Kevin Kwan’s latest won’t disappoint . . . Kwan has a gimlet eye.’

Washington Post

‘Nouveau riche voyeurism at its finest . . . Kwan knows (or seems to know) how the ultra-wealthy, specifically the Asian and Eurasian ultra-wealthy, toss around their dough and how they disport themselves in assorted world capitals.’

Wall Street Journal

‘Private jets, $40,000 dresses, and a benevolent bachelor blissfully unaware that he’s on the brink of bankruptcy: It’s a trifecta that can only come together in a Kevin Kwan novel . . . Hopping among Hawaii, Marrakech, the British countryside, and Beverly Hills, Kwan tells a story like only he can, sending up the 0.01% while underlining that the heart wants what the heart wants, regardless of tax bracket.’

Bustle

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Tūtū Pele, who told me to have trust and patience

Hong Kong, 1995

SOUTH CHINA SEA

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.” Henry kept chanting the line out loud over the roar of the helicopter’s engine. He had just seen it in an ad at the jewelry shop, and he did not want to forget it tonight. Against the ink blue of the evening sky, the jagged ridges of the mountain pass reminded him of a great slumbering beast. The Dragon’s Back, as it was known to locals. Looking out over the twinkling lights that came into view as the chopper crested Shek O Peak, Henry remembered what his mother always said: The feng shui was especially good on Hong Kong Island because the city was situated with the mountain at its back and the ocean at its feet. This was why so many great fortunes were made here.

And no one felt more fortunate tonight than Henry Tong. He was flying home from a weekend on the nearby island of Macau, where, after winning $7.4 million at the high-stakes poker table of the Casino Lisboa, he had directed the pilot to take him straight to his favorite watering hole at the best hotel in Hong Kong, where his closest chums had been commanded to meet him. What none of his friends knew was that before jumping aboard the helicopter, Henry had made a pit stop at the jeweler on the mezzanine level of the casino and hastily snapped up a twelve-carat canary diamond ring.*

* To be precise, an 11.68-carat fancy yellow VVS2 Asscher-cut diamond ring accented by two large kite-shaped diamond side stones.

This night called for a grand celebration—he was going to make Gabriella Soong his fiancée.

The helicopter descended atop the Peninsula Hotel on Kowloon’s waterfront, and Henry impatiently jumped out before the rotor blades came to a stop. Rakishly handsome with his hair slicked back and his Armani jacket flapping against the wind, the twenty-sixyear-old strode across the landing pad feeling as if he owned the whole joint. A uniformed attendant in the hotel’s signature Brewster Green livery bowed deferentially as he held open the door. One level down—on the twenty-eighth floor of the hotel—was the city’s most exclusive nightspot: Felix.

At that moment in time, no place on the planet could compete with Felix in terms of sheer wow factor. As one entered the main dining room through a darkened hallway, the space suddenly opened up to soaring floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the stunning view of the Hong Kong skyline across Victoria Harbour. Only here, the view had to compete with the jaw-dropping design:* a massive shimmering steel focal wall etched with undulating waves and a glowing, long white alabaster communal table that appeared to float across the entire north end of the dining room. On the opposite side, a pair of conical towers with spiral stairways wound their way up to twin VIP champagne bars overlooking the bustling scene below.

The Aussie bouncer standing guard recognized Henry immediately and unclipped the purple velvet rope at the foot of the stairway. “Mr. Tong, your party’s waiting,” he said with an affable nod.

“But the party doesn’t start till I get here!” Henry shot back as he fastened the top button of his blazer and bounded up the steps three at a time. Even in a VIP lounge packed with the city’s bright young things, Henry’s friends stood out as the brightest as they clustered along the pale pink leather banquette that wrapped around the low

* Designed by Philippe Starck, the original enfant terrible starchitect responsible for such stellar spaces as the original Royalton Hotel in New York, Kong in Paris, and the Delano in South Beach, where I highly recommend the delicious Sunday brunch buffet—especially if somebody else is paying.

Lies and Weddings 5

balcony overlooking the cacophonous scene below. Everyone had been waiting impatiently for his arrival, and it was clear they had already enjoyed a few bottles too many.

“Henry! Over here!” Rosina Ko-Tung squealed as she waved her bare arms wildly.

“Finally! We’ve been waiting for hours,” Brendan Lam slurred.

“Yau mou gau cho, ah! Can’t believe you’re still standing!” Edwin Chan clapped Henry on the back.

“Filthy crook! How many mainlanders did you fuck over this time?” Roger Gao chimed in, his face flushed bright red from doing vodka shots with the guys.

“They were gweilos. Mainlanders are getting way too good at poker,” Henry said, grinning, as he slumped down beside Roger’s sister, Mary, a former Miss Hong Kong. “I’m so knackered,” Henry sighed. He was finally feeling the effects of his marathon gambling binge.

Mary gave him an assessing look and raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been drinking?”

“Only for the past thirty or forty hours.”

“Rumor has it you almost bankrupted Stanley Ho this time.”

“I wish! My winnings are a day’s pocket money to him,” Henry chuckled, looking around the lounge. “Where’s Gabby?”

“Waiting to make her entrance, of course,” Rosina quipped.

No sooner had she uttered the words than a ravishingly pretty girl in a metallic gray Barney Cheng minidress appeared at the top of the steps.

“Princess Gabriella has arrived!” Brendan cheered. “All hail the princess!”

Gabriella Soong rolled her eyes and gave Brendan a playful slap on his arm.

“Champagne for everyone!” Henry declared, making eye contact with the bartender he knew so well. “Hey, Jason! We need your best champagne tonight! What do you have?”

“How about some Louis Roederer Cristal 1988?” Jason replied merrily, mentally calculating his gratuity as he reached under the

bar for the private reserve bottles. Maybe he’d even take a taxi home tonight.

“Wait, wait, before you pop the bottle open . . . ,” Henry yelled at the bartender as he stood on the banquette. “My friends, I summoned all of you here today under false pretenses. You’re not actually here to witness my historic win at the gaming tables of Macau. You’re here to witness Henry Tong a changed man tonight.”

“Have you finally accepted Jesus as your lord and savior?” Roger cackled.

“No, I’ve found the most precious flower in all the world.” Henry suddenly leapt off the banquette and landed on his knees right before Gabriella. The room went silent as everyone stared at him.

“Gabby, if I . . . if I had a flower for every time I think of you, I could walk in my garden forever . . .”

“Stop it, Henry, you’re drunk,” Gabriella said, shaking her head.

“I’m drunk on love. I’m intoxicated by you.” Fumbling into his jacket pocket, he took out a midnight-blue velvet box and presented it to the stunned girl. “Gabriella Soong, I realized tonight that all the money in the world would never make me a happy man unless I can enjoy it with you. I will present your father with every last cent of my winnings tomorrow to show him how serious I am. Will you please make me the happiest man on earth by saying yes?”

Edwin, Brendan, and Roger froze in disbelief at the whole scene. Rosina, her mouth wide open in shock, looked across the room at Mary.

Henry opened the box and Gabriella stared down at the sparkling rock. She held her hands up to her face and her body started to tremble. “Oh, Henry . . . ,” she sighed as her eyes brimmed with tears.

“Is that a yes?” Henry looked up at her pleadingly.

“Yes! Yes!” Gabriella cried as Henry stood up and embraced her tightly.

Jason popped the champagne cork, and everyone in the lounge began clapping and cheering. Standing behind the bar, Jason had the perfect vantage point to witness everything unfolding, and for the rest of his life he would remember it like it happened in slow motion:

George Michael’s “Fastlove” blasting on the sound system.

Henry whirling Gabby around the tight space.

Rosina and Roger whispering tensely over the music.

Mary sitting alone gazing at the tiny bubbles in her champagne glass.

Edwin and Brendan doing sloppy tequila shots with a famous Muay Thai star.

Roger walking over to his sister, Mary, and grabbing her by the shoulders.

Mary shaking her head, sobbing.

Henry and Gabby dancing as Roger rushed over yelling, “Fucking pig!”

Henry jumping onto the banquette as Roger lunged at him in a blind rage.

Henry scrambling backward and toppling over the low glass railing.

Rosina not believing her own eyes as Henry tumbled through space like an Olympic diver in slow motion and landed on a dinner table twenty feet below.

Edwin grabbing Roger as he shouted, “What the hell? What the hell?”

Brendan staring in horror at Henry impaled onto a crystal candelabra.

Gabby screaming as blood pooled around Henry’s body on the immaculate white tablecloth.

THE MAIN PLAYERS

THE EARL

Francis Gresham

Formal Title: The Right Honorable the Earl of Greshamsbury

Verbal Address: my lord (formal), Lord Greshamsbury (social)

Astrological sign: Cancer

HIS WIFE

Arabella Leung Gresham

Formal Title: The Right Honorable the Countess of Greshamsbury

Verbal Address: madam (formal), Lady Greshamsbury (social)

Astrological sign: Scorpio

THEIR SON

Rufus Leung Gresham

Formal Title: The Right Honorable the Viscount St. Ives

Verbal Address: my lord (formal), Lord St. Ives (social)

Known within the family as “Rufus”

Astrological sign: Sagittarius

THEIR ELDER DAUGHTER

Augusta Leung Gresham

Formal Title: Lady Augusta Gresham

Verbal Address: Lady Augusta (formal), Lady Augusta (social)

Known within the family as “Augie”

Astrological sign: Aries

THEIR YOUNGER DAUGHTER

Beatrice Leung Gresham

Formal Title: Lady Beatrice Gresham

Verbal Address: Lady Beatrice (formal), Lady Beatrice (social)

Known within the family as “Bea”

Astrological sign: Pisces

THE NEIGHBOR

Thomas Tong

Formal Title: Dr. Thomas Tong

Verbal Address: Dr. Tong (formal), Thomas (social)

Astrological sign:

Astrological sign: Gemini

HIS DAUGHTER

Eden Tong

Formal Title: Dr. Eden Tong

Verbal Address: Dr. Tong (formal), Eden (social)

Astrological sign: Capricorn

I

Greshamsbury

Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.

Lionel Stander

ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE “FORTHCOMING MARRIAGES”

SECTION OF THE TIMES:

HSH

HSH PRINCE M. ZU LIECHTENBURG AND

PRINCE M. ZU LIECHTENBURG AND LADY A. GRESHAM

LADY A. GRESHAM

The engagement is announced between Maximillian, first son of Their Serene Highnesses Prince and Princess Julius zu Liechtenburg, and Augusta, elder daughter of the Earl and Countess of Greshamsbury. A spring wedding is planned.

I

Dr. Eden Tong and Rufus, Viscount St. Ives

GRESHAMSBURY, ENGLAND • PRESENT DAY

Eden Tong and Rufus Gresham, who grew up as neighbors and had been the closest of friends since they were very young, used to leave each other secret notes in the hollow of a majestic holm oak that grew on the pathway between their houses. Nowadays, since they were quite often on opposite ends of the world—with Eden in England and Rufus constantly on the go—they would text every morning without fail. Eden (Greshamsbury Nursery School/Mount House/ Downe House/Cambridge) would be awakened by her phone alarm playing the first few notes of Radiohead’s “High and Dry,” and after swiping snooze a couple of times, she’d eventually grab her phone and peer at the text message on Signal that was invariably waiting from Rufus (Mount House/Radley/Exeter/Central Saint Martins).

Today’s text:

Eden Tong and Rufus Gresham, who grew up as neighbors and had been the closest of friends since they were very young, used to leave each other secret notes in the hollow of a majestic holm oak that grew on the pathway between their houses. Nowadays, since they were quite often on opposite ends of the world—with Eden in England and Rufus constantly on the go—they would text every morning without fail. Eden (Greshamsbury Nursery School/Mount House/ Downe House/Cambridge) would be awakened by her phone alarm playing the first few notes of Radiohead’s “High and Dry,” and after swiping snooze a couple of times, she’d eventually grab her phone and peer at the text message on Signal that was invariably waiting from Rufus (Mount House/Radley/Exeter/Central Saint Martins). Today’s text:

RUFUS GRESHAM: What do you think of my nails?

Eden lazily texted back:

EDEN TONG: I don’t.

RG: Do I need a manicure?

ET: Because you chew them to the quick?

RG: That noticeable huh?

ET: Not really. Doubt anyone but your mum would care.

RG: Haha, she’s insisting I get a manicure before the wedding.

ET: Up to you. You might find it addictive.

RG: Hmmm. Seems decadent. Speaking of which, I had Shanghai Fried Buns last night. Like soup dumplings except bigger and pan fried so the bottom’s all toasty.

ET: Yummmmm. Same place as the hand-pulled noodles?

RG: No, new place in Chinatown. Can’t wait to take you there.

ET: Our list keeps growing.

RG: When do you arrive in Hawaii?

ET: Not going to Hawaii.

RG: You wish.

ET: I’m serious. Won’t be there.

RG: What?!?! Those NHS tyrants won’t give you time off?

ET: Um . . . not exactly.

RG: No excuses then.

ET: I didn’t make the cut. I’m not a royal or a trillionaire.

RG: Wait. SERIOUSLY? Why am I only finding out now?

ET: Thought you knew.

RG: This is bollocks. I’m calling Mum now.

ET: Please don’t. It’s fine.

RG: No it’s not!!! How can YOU of all people not be at my sister’s wedding?!?

ET: I was at the blessing at Greshamsbury Rectory.

RG: Not the same and you know it. I’ll call Augie.

ET: Please don’t. The last thing she needs now is more drama with your mum.

RG: She’s used to it. With Mum there’s drama 24/7. How often did you speak to your dad when you were away at uni?

ET: Maybe every couple of weeks.

RG: Mum calls me 5 times a day. If I miss 2 calls in a row she freaks out and thinks I’m dead.

ET: All mothers worry.

RG: 5 times a day is not normal when your son is 28.

ET: You know you don’t have to pick up every time she calls.

RG: I know. But I have Asian son guilt.

ET: You’re half Asian, so you should only have half the guilt.

RG: ;-) If only. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WON’T BE HERE! I was planning our itinerary. Swimming with dolphins. Flat whites at Arvo. Roadside rotisserie chicken in Waimea. Gill’s Lanai for the BEST fish tacos. Hiking to the waterfalls in Waipi’o Valley.

ET: I’ll come this summer.

RG: You say that, but you never have time. Who am I going to talk to at the wedding now? :-(

ET: All the pretty posh girls strategically positioned by your mum.

RG: She’s up to something . . . she’s fussing over me as if it were my own wedding.

ET: Maybe it is. You’ll get there and it’ll be: “Surprise! Here’s your bride, just stand on this mark and shove this ring onto her finger.”

RG: Wouldn’t put it past Mum. You know she’s been obsessing over who I should marry since the day I was born. She drives me CRAZY with it. You’re so lucky.

ET: Because my mum’s dead?

RG: Oof. Sorry! Didn’t mean it that way.

ET: It’s fine. I had the dream again.

RG: The one where your mother appears in random places?

ET: This time it was in the ice cream section at Waitrose.

RG: That’s not too weird.

ET: She was INSIDE one of those refrigerators dressed like Glinda the Good Witch.

RG: Isn’t she always in something sparkly when you see her?

ET: Yup. She was trying to tell me something, but when she spoke, there was no sound, just vapors coming out of her mouth.

RG: What do you think she was trying to say?

ET: Wish I knew . . .

RG: I know this amazing tarot card reader, Viv, who can help decipher your dreams. She’s up in Hawi. Dammit, you NEED to be here.

ET: I’ll come this summer, I promise.

RG: I’ll hold you to it.

ET: Gotta run.

RG: Bye.

Moments after their text conversation had ended, Rufus sent off another text to his sister Augusta.

RG: Why am I the last one to find out that Eden isn’t coming to Hawaii? I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t want her beside you on your special day. Shall I talk to Mum? Happy to take the heat on this.

Lady Augusta Gresham

SOUTH KONA, THE ISLAND OF HAWAII • MOMENTS LATER

Augusta saw the text come in from her brother, but she chose to ignore it. She had other problems to deal with that were of far more importance to her, and at present she and Gopal Das were strolling through the exquisite grounds of the Bellaloha Resort, where every blade of grass had been perfectly positioned as if god had intended it, although it was really the work of Augusta’s mother, Lady Arabella, and her very expensive team of Belgian landscape designers. Augusta (Willcocks/Cheltenham/UWC Atlantic/Bard) headed toward the cliffside promontory where an elaborate Balinese pavilion had been erected and gestured halfheartedly to her spiritual advisor. “This is where we’re supposed to do the vows.”

“It’s beautiful,” Gopal Das said, smiling serenely at his beautiful British-Chinese acolyte.

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. Just look at these beams, and the love that was put into carving them.”

They approached the altar positioned at the edge of the cliff and gazed out at the dramatic view of the Kona coastline just as the sun was dipping into the ocean. Gopal Das (Brimmer and May/Groton/ Williams/UC Berkeley/Four Winds Shaman School), a tall, lanky Caucasian man in his midforties with shoulder-length strawberryblond hair and a matching beard stretched out his densely freckled arms in a godlike manner. “Let us welcome this blessed sunset.

SOUTH KONA, THE ISLAND OF HAWAII • MOMENTS LATER

I’ve never seen a painting that captures the beauty of the ocean at a moment like this.”

Augusta cocked her head. “That sounds so familiar. Is that Pema Chödrön?”

“Er . . . no.”

“Oh, I know, it’s a quote from Ram Dass.”

“Could’ve been him,” Gopal Das said vaguely.* “Tell me, Augie, how do you feel, standing here in this sacred space, where in just four days you and Maxxie will be exchanging your vows?”

A cloud came over Augie’s face. “It doesn’t feel sacred to me at all.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Mummy designed every square meter of this resort. It’s the new jewel in her hotel empire that she’s waiting to show off to the world, and she’s turning my soul union with Maxxie into a coronation for herself. This entire resort makes me feel very . . . ungrounded.”

“Well then, let’s ground you.” The guru led his acolyte down the steps of the pavilion onto the dewy grass, and they sat facing each other in lotus position.

Gopal Das tucked the tight white tee that showed off his sinewy pecs into his camo-green cargo shorts and said, “Close your eyes. Now breathe in deeply. . . . Let your first chakra connect with the ground, rooting in the earth, connecting with Gaia, connecting with spirit. Now, what do you feel?”

“Sadness,” Augie admitted.

“Good. Sadness cannot hurt you. Let us not judge this sadness, but rather, think of it as a ball, a white ball floating just in front of you. Tell me what you see in the ball.”

“I see my mother. She’s such a controlling bitch. She’s forcing me to get married here in this fake Balinese temple and not actually in Bali where I’ve dreamed of having my wedding ever since I saw Eat Pray Love. I can’t believe she’s forcing me to wear Valentino.”

* It was actually Gordon Gekko in Wall Street.

“Valentino cannot hurt you. You are a grown woman and your mother cannot force you to do anything. She has no control over your body.”

Augie let out a sharp sob.

“Shall we go deeper into that? What is hiding behind that sob?”

“Avocados,” Augie muttered as she began to cry softly.

“Good. Avocados cannot hurt you. Why do avocados make you feel this way?”

“Mummy forced me to eat half an avocado every morning as a child. That’s all I was ever allowed for breakfast, while Rufus and Bea got to have all the scrambled eggs and Cumberland sausages and Nutella crepes they wanted. Rufus was ‘a growing boy,’ my little sister Bea was always ‘the perfect angel,’ but I was the ‘jyu pa.’ That’s ‘pork chop’ in Cantonese. Mummy would make me strip naked, pinch my tummy hard, and measure my body fat with these freezing-cold calipers. She said no handsome prince would ever want to marry a pork chop.”

“But look at you today. You are not a pork chop and you have found your handsome prince.”

Augie cracked a smile for the first time that evening. “I have, haven’t I?”

“A prince who treasures you for your beautiful heart and your beautiful soul, not your body, which, I might add, is beautiful too.”

“He does, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, and you manifested him into your life.”

“Actually, my mother manifested him, with the help of Nicolai Chalamet-Chaude, that fucking social clim—”

“Augie, every word you say carries its own energy. There is no need to drop the F-bomb at this moment.”

“Sorry. I am just so angry, Gopal Das.”

“Your anger cannot hurt you.”

“I can feel myself burning up. I feel so much rage.”

“Your rage cannot hurt you. Just visualize that rage as a little red ball, a red ball that is spinning from your crown chakra, through

your heart chakra, through your solar plexus, and out your base chakra. Exhale fully and just let the ball flow through you from top to bottom, top to bottom . . .”

Augie exhaled forcefully, deflating like a balloon.

“Is it flowing?”

“Ye-ess,” Augie exhaled, her body trembling.

“Now, take a deep breath, and using all the goddess energy you possess within you, just expel the ball to the center of the earth, where it can no longer hurt you.”

Augie breathed in, and she breathed out. She clenched her eyes tight and imagined a hot ball of rage tunneling through all the layers of the earth till it reached the inner core.

“Can you feel it leaving your body?”

“Yes! Yes! I can feel it moving through my body. I can feel the heat.”

“Good. I can feel it too.” Gopal Das took a deep breath and felt a sulfuric burning in his nostrils. He opened his eyes and saw that the ground behind Augie was literally cracking open with smoke.

“Motherfucker! Augie, run! FUCKING RUN!” Gopal Das screamed.

Dr. Thomas Tong

GRESHAMSBURY COTTAGE • THE SAME MORNING

The route of Eden’s morning run never wavered. She would jog up the field behind the cottage where she lived with her father, skirting the grounds of Greshamsbury Hall for 1.5 miles before she made a quick descent down the hilly path leading to the village. After popping into Nero’s to grab her usual latte, she would take the long way around the village square before ending up back at the cottage.

It was early enough when Eden returned from her run that mist still shrouded the lilac hedges in the garden. Entering through the kitchen door, she was surprised to find her father seated at the table, spooning marmalade onto his toast. Dr. Thomas Tong (Diocesan Boys’/Radley/Cambridge/MD Anderson UTHealth) usually slept in on Saturdays, as he spent all of Friday up in London doing surgeries and would return quite late in the evening.

“Everything okay?” Eden kissed the back of her father’s head as she passed behind him.

“Hemsworth woke me. Needs me to make a house call.”

“Oh, I was going to pop over too. Got an urgent text from Bea.”

“She sick as well?”

“Fashion emergency.”

“Toast?” Thomas handed Eden the slice he had just prepared and they sat in their usual cozy silence, Thomas taking slow sips of malty Lapsang from his favorite blue enamel mug as he flipped through the

morning paper* and Eden dipping her marmalade toast in her latte while scanning the news† on her phone. After both of them felt sufficiently caffeinated, Thomas grabbed his black leather medical bag and they left through the kitchen door and took the shortcut through the boxwood maze onto the grounds of “the Big House,” as both of them referred to it.

It was a short stroll up to Greshamsbury Hall—five minutes if you walked quickly—and the route was so well traveled by Thomas and Eden that they could have done it blindfolded. The Big House was originally built as the hunting lodge of a much grander estate, Boxall Park, as it was situated on the very edge of the estate’s vast lands by the ancient Dartmoor Forest. The sixteenth earl had been forced to implement austerity measures after a particularly disastrous series of margin calls during the crash of 1929 and was obliged to lease out Boxall Park and move his family seat to Greshamsbury Hall. These reduced circumstances proved to be a rather fortuitous change for his wife, the countess, who sighed in relief at no longer having to run a two-hundred-room stately. Instead, she reveled in making do with a mere forty-three rooms set on a hundred and eight acres.

The other advantage of Greshamsbury Hall was its splendid situation. Majestically set on a hilltop along the upper reaches of the river Feign, it afforded every room with sweeping views of the glorious Devonshire countryside. To arrive at the house, visitors were given a unique set of directions: “When you arrive at the village of Greshamsbury, turn down the narrow country lane between the wooden fenceposts directly facing the HSBC bank and follow it for 1.5 miles.” That particular country lane gently rambled past a field of lavender and a postcard-perfect paddock where a pair of long-haired white horses grazed, and curved up a sloping allée of towering oaks, where beyond an old wooden bridge over the bubbling river the gracious mock-Tudor house dramatically came into view. With the sunlight against the elegant black and white timbered façade and

* The Guardian.

† Dailymail.co.uk.

The other advantage of Greshamsbury Hall was its splendid situation. Majestically set on a hilltop along the upper reaches of the river Feign, it afforded every room with sweeping views of the glorious Devonshire countryside. To arrive at the house, visitors were given a unique set of directions: “When you arrive at the village of Greshamsbury, turn down the narrow country lane between the wooden fenceposts directly facing the HSBC bank and follow it for 1.5 miles.” That particular country lane gently rambled past a field of lavender and a postcard-perfect paddock where a pair of long-haired white horses grazed, and curved up a sloping allée of towering oaks, where beyond an old wooden bridge over the bubbling river the gracious mock-Tudor house dramatically came into view. With the sunlight against the elegant black and white timbered façade and * The Guardian. † Dailymail.co.uk.

Lies and Weddings

the sparkling river cascading down the hill, the effect was mesmerizing. Elsie de Wolfe, who paid a visit in 1938, purportedly proclaimed it “the most romantic house in all of England.”

Lies and Weddings 23 the sparkling river cascading down the hill, the effect was mesmerizing. Elsie de Wolfe, who paid a visit in 1938, purportedly proclaimed it “the most romantic house in all of England.”

This idyllic setting had been the Tongs’ refuge ever since Eden’s mother passed away when she was only five. Thomas had been granted a grace-and-favor lease to the handsome Grade II–listed Jacobean cottage* neighboring Greshamsbury Hall by Francis Gresham—the current earl and his best friend since their Radley days. After Thomas completed his fellowship training in Houston, Francis had lured him into opening his clinic in the little town instead of returning to Hong Kong, where he had been offered a partnership at a prestigious private clinic. “It will give our corner of the world more cachet to have an oncologist of your standing here, and besides, who else would I watch Pink Floyd’s The Wall with twice a year?” Francis reasoned.

Thomas was actually glad to be making a fresh start away from Hong Kong and Houston, and truth be told he felt more comfortable in England, having more or less spent the majority of his formative years there since being sent away to boarding school at the age of thirteen. But what compelled him most to set up home in Greshamsbury were the three ready-made playmates for Eden. She and Rufus were the same age, while Augie was two years older and Bea had just been born.

“She’ll grow up with my kids, and our nannies will take care of her while you’re at the clinic. Rufus will be like a brother to her, and Augusta and Bea will be like sisters,” Francis declared. The earl’s prediction had exceeded his own expectations, and in the ensuing years Eden and the Gresham children became so inseparable that after finishing her medical foundation-year program in London, Eden decided to return home to Greshamsbury. Though she was doing her core medical training at a hospital in Plymouth, she was

* Although “cottage” could be rather misleading for the spacious four-bedroom house with a thatched roof that was decomposing so perfectly, Thomas was constantly finding DIY influencers taking selfies by the garden gate.

happy to commute every day and live at the cottage so that she could be with her adored father and next door to her dear friends.

As Thomas and Eden walked past the impeccably pruned lime trees that lined the gravel driveway to Greshamsbury Hall, the side door was quietly opened by a strapping sandy-haired butler dressed in the bespoke uniform of squid-ink-dyed Japanese denim shirt and jeans that Lady Arabella had designed for her staff.

“Morning, Hemsworth,” Thomas and Eden greeted him in unison.

“Good morning, Doctors,” the butler said warmly. Hemsworth (Ringwood/Heathmont/Screenwise/International Butler Academy) gestured to the back stairs but did not bother to escort Thomas and Eden up, being accustomed to the doctor’s frequent morning visits. The two of them bounded up the stairs quickly, and at the second-floor landing where three delicate Ruth Asawa woven mesh sculptures hung, Eden split off and wandered down the Long Gallery toward Bea’s rooms while Thomas approached the hallway leading to Arabella’s suite. Gracie, the countess’s lady’s maid, who was hovering outside the suite, greeted Thomas with a look of relief and immediately turned to knock on the door.

“Dr. Tong, ma’am,” Gracie announced as she pushed the door open without waiting for acknowledgment. Thomas entered the countess’s morning room, where he found her arranged dramatically on her Carlo Bugatti chaise longue, swathed in an apricot silk robe, propped up by a dozen velvet pillows in assorted crimson hues with a cashmere eye pillow over her face and the blood pressure monitor conveniently tied around her left arm. Even in her discomfort, not a single strand of her signature chin-length bob appeared out of place, and the countess in her sixth decade retained the strikingly photogenic features that had once upon a time made her a sought-after fashion model.

“Lady Greshamsbury,” Thomas greeted her formally, observing the protocol he knew she expected even though he was her husband’s closest friend and had been her neighbor and family doctor for decades.

The countess removed her eye pillow almost in slow motion but

Lies and Weddings 25 kept her eyes closed. “Hiyah, what took you so long?” Arabella (Maryknoll Convent School/City University of Hong Kong/King’s College) said in the tone she reserved for Thomas Tong and other Asians she deemed inferior to her.* “I can’t open my eyes. The room keeps spinning. Gracie just checked my blood pressure two minutes ago. One ninety over one forty.”

kept her eyes closed. “Hiyah, what took you so long?” Arabella (Maryknoll Convent School/City University of Hong Kong/King’s College) said in the tone she reserved for Thomas Tong and other Asians she deemed inferior to her.* “I can’t open my eyes. The room keeps spinning. Gracie just checked my blood pressure two minutes ago. One ninety over one forty.”

“Not likely. You’d be quite dead if that were the case,” Thomas said,† looking down at the machine. “You know your arm needs to be level with your heart when you take a reading.”

“Did I have a transient ischemic stroke? I’m absolutely convinced I did. You have no idea what happened in the middle of the night!”

“Tell me,” Thomas said calmly, taking out his own blood pressure monitor and strapping it on her upper arm.

“Where’s my phone?” Arabella felt around the cushions weakly with her right hand.

“Your diction is impeccable as ever; you’re certainly not slurring. Any numbness or loss of vision?”

“I’m numb everywhere. My fingers and toes feel like they are on fire.”

“That’s not numbness,” Thomas said patiently. Arabella waved a hand in the air helplessly. “Gracie, where the hell is my phone?”

“It’s in your other hand, ma’am.”

Arabella held it up to Thomas. “Look! Look!”

“Now, you need to be completely still while I take the reading. No talking. That’s a very nice picture of you on the cover of ¡Hola! ”

“Hiyah, not that one. Gracie, show him the video!”

* Though Arabella was raised speaking the Queen’s English in what was then the British Crown Colony of Hong Kong and spoke with the poshest of accents, whenever she came into contact with other Asians—particularly family members and service people—her accent would take on the inflections and sentence structuring that were peculiar to upper-crust Hong Kongers. Linguistic experts call this phenomenon code-switching, while others might call it snobby tai tai syndrome.

† Dr. Tong’s British accent did not code-switch and always remained the same. He always sounded a bit like Benedict Cumberbatch in Sherlock.

Gracie swiped past the screensaver and held up the video that had been sent to Arabella in the middle of the night.

“Spectacular,” Thomas said, marveling at the high-res video of lava shooting out of the cliffside like a geyser.

Arabella bolted up from the chaise, her cashmere eye pillow falling to the floor. “Spectacular? Seeing that almost killed me! That lava you see is a volcanic fissure that opened up earlier today—right in the middle of the garden where Augusta’s wedding ceremony is supposed to be!”

“Looks like it will be a spectacular ceremony . . .”

“You don’t get it. A volcano basically erupted at the wedding site! The Balinese pavilion, the replica of the bar at Loulou’s, the ballroom mimicking the checkerboard floors at Château d’Anet, it’s all ruined! Everything has been ruined!”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But the good news is, you’ll be safe from the molten lava and your blood pressure is only slightly elevated, which is to be expected considering the circumstances.”

“I think the circumstances are going to be the end of me. Ooi! Ooi! See? Still spinning. I can’t even sit up,” Arabella moaned, sinking against her pillows again.

“What medications did you take last night?”

“Only Ambien, melatonin, Cipralex, and Zoloft. And I added two baby aspirin when I was feeling symptoms of the stroke.”*

* Let’s be clear, the signs of an actual stroke may include these sudden symptoms: facial drooping on one side of the face, arm weakness, and speech difficulty. Unless there is a kindly doctor next door whom your butler can quickly summon, please call your emergency medical service immediately if you experience these symptoms.

Lady Beatrice Gresham

GRESHAMSBURY HALL • THE SAME MORNING

Eden lounged on the Jorge Zalszupin daybed in Bea’s suite, trying to find a comfortable position on the emaciated cushion. The problem with Brazilian modernist furniture, Eden felt, was that it looked great in photo shoots but really killed your back. Bea’s bedroom used to be a cozy haven decorated with Oka hand-me-downs and mountains of throw pillows, but when Elle Decor came calling a year ago to do a feature, Bea and her mother had transformed her rooms into a painfully chic showcase of museum-quality torture devices all upholstered in the drabbest Belgian linen.

Bea (Greshamsbury Nursery School/Mount House/Cheltenham/Aiglon/Georgetown) emerged from her dressing room and twirled around in a ruffled confection by Giambattista Valli. With her five-foot-nine-inch frame and her startlingly auburn hair cascading down to her waist, she looked good in almost everything she put on. * “Be honest. It reads as white, doesn’t it?”

Bea (Greshamsbury Nursery School/Mount House/Cheltenham/Aiglon/Georgetown) emerged from her dressing room and twirled around in a ruffled confection by Giambattista Valli. With her five-foot-nine-inch frame and her startlingly auburn hair cascading down to her waist, she looked good in almost everything she put on.

* “Be honest. It reads as white, doesn’t it?”

“It does look rather white,” Eden admitted.

“Giamba promised it’d be the most ravishing shade of celadon, so what the bloody hell is this? And it will look even whiter outdoors against the Pacific Ocean, won’t it? What do I do now? I can’t wear this, I can’t wear the pink Valentino anymore, because—you are sworn to secrecy—that’s who Augie’s wearing, and I can’t do

* There was that pair of ruffled culottes that made her legs look like they were being attacked by vicious doilies.

the black Gaultier or Mummy will have a fit. God, I wish I’d asked Viktor & Rolf to design me something. I had a feeling I would need more backups for the wedding-day look.”

“Augie’s wearing Valentino?” Eden remarked, thinking it was rather out of character for Bea’s elder sister, who usually eschewed designer brands and had talked for years about getting married in a dress that was “a replica of Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s but made out of organic hemp.”

“You don’t know the half of it—Augie and Mummy have been at each other’s throats for months now. First there was the row over the engagement ring that Mummy detested.”

“What? I love Augie’s moonstone ring! Didn’t her friend Bliss Lau design it specially for her?” Eden asked.

“She did, but Mummy felt that Maxxie was being a cheapskate and Augie needed a proper diamond from Harry Collins.* Then Augie wanted to ask another friend from Hawaii to design a wedding dress in keeping with local traditions, but Mummy threatened to cut her off if she did that. She said, ‘You are marrying into the noble house of Liechtenburg, so you will be compared to all royal brides. You can’t wear some tropical muumuu! Whether you like it or not, you must wear Valentino like Rosario, Marie-Chantal, Máxima, Sibilla, and Madeleine† did or we will be absolutely disgraced.’ ”

Eden sighed sympathetically. “Poor Augie! Imagine not being allowed to wear what she wants to her own wedding. All she ever wanted was a dreamy beach wedding where she could be barefoot on the sand.”

There was a brief knock on the door, and Hemsworth entered with a covered breakfast tray and placed it on the bed next to Eden.

* Harry Collins MVO, with his family-run G. Collins & Sons in Royal Tunbridge Wells, was appointed the personal jeweler to Queen Elizabeth II in 2005.

† Princess Rosario of Bulgaria, Crown Princess Marie-Chantal of Greece, Queen Máxima of the Netherlands, Princess Sibilla of Luxembourg, and Princess Madeleine of Sweden, all Valentino brides.

He removed the silver dome to reveal a plate piled high with chocolate croissants. “Margaret heard you were here, so she wanted to send this up.”

Eden gasped in delight. “Oh, I’ve been craving Margaret’s pain au chocolat. Please thank her for me.”

“Margaret loves you more than me,” Bea said as she eyed the pastries enviously.

“That’s because I’m the only one around here who eats carbs,” Eden said as she took a bite of her chocolate croissant, still warm from the oven. “You really ought to try one.”

“Not possible. I’m already on an all-water diet in preparation for next week. Now, what can I wear besides the Giamba?”

“How about that peach gown you decided not to wear for Augie’s blessing at the rectory?”

“The Dolce? But it’s not even Alta Moda.”

“You look so pretty in it. Who’s going to care if it’s Alta Moda or alte kaker?”

“I wish it were that simple. You don’t understand the crowd that’s coming. Every crowned, uncrowned, and deposed head in Europe will be there. It’s going to be next-level, the who’s who of the International Best-Dressed List. You know every fashion magazine is covering the wedding—I have four shoots scheduled and I’m not even the bride! All eyes are going to be on us, and I’ll be torn to shreds for wearing off-the-rack Dolce on the big day. Mummy thinks that I’m so close to getting a major endorsement deal with one of the Big Three.”*

Eden nodded supportively. Privately, she was quite relieved not to be attending the wedding, just like she was perfectly happy being spared from engaging in all the society madness that the Gresham girls were so caught up in. It was a world she got to peek into occasionally, helping the sisters get ready for their soirées and hearing the stories afterward, but she was perfectly happy to be a spectator from a

* In Beatrice’s mind, the Big Three were Chanel, Dior, and Valentino.

* In Beatrice’s mind, the Big Three were Chanel, Dior, and Valentino. Lies and Weddings

distance. There was a knock on the door as Anya, one of the younger maids, peeked her head in. “The countess needs you immediately.”

Bea groaned. “I’ve been hiding from her all morning. On a scale of one to ten, how mad does she seem?”

Anya thought about it for a moment. “Eight point five?”

“Fuck.” Bea turned to Eden pleadingly. “Come with me?”

“You realize my presence is not going to be the shield you think it is.”

“True, but it will help distract her a bit. Here, put this on.” Bea fastened a diamond-and-ruby necklace around Eden’s neck. Her short gamine hairstyle, cropped to the nape of her neck, showed off the elaborate jewels to their full advantage, and Bea thought for the millionth time how lucky Eden was to have those naturally pouty lips and perfect cheekbones—if only she would wear a little more makeup to enhance her assets and not dress like she was an underpaid NHS first-year doctor (even though she was).

“There! The necklace looks better on you than it does on me! Really, you must wear more rubies on a regular basis.”

Eden began protesting. “Bea, are you sure I should be—”

“Shush, it’s perfect. It was my great-grandmother’s. The San Francisco one who replenished all the coffers with her railroad money. Now Mummy will scold me for letting you wear it and forget what she really wants to scold me about.”

Eden was led off reluctantly, and they entered the countess’s bedroom to find a rather strange scene: Thomas seated in a chair, observing with the detachment of a Jungian therapist, and Lord Francis (Harrodian/Radley/Exeter) standing helplessly in the corner, while Arabella was flinging things into her Globe-Trotter trunks as three maids rushed around in terror. To Bea, she seemed to be hovering at more of a 9.5 on the scale of maternal insanity.

“What’s going on?” Bea asked gingerly.

Arabella looked up. “BEATRICE!* Jackie the wedding planner

* Arabella pronounces her daughter’s name in the Italian way, Be-ah-TREE-chey, not because she’s Italian but because she’s pretentious.

Lies and Weddings

31

says we can buy out all the other resorts on the island for our guests, especially since so many cowards have canceled and there are plenty of other spots on the island where we can restage the wedding! I’m going to need your help! I need you to pack your bags now and come with me! My dear brother, god bless his soul, is sending one of his planes to Farnborough for us! Wheels up at nine a.m. tomorrow! I need all hands on deck! We need to divide and conquer! Where is Rufus? Have you heard from your brother? He’s not responding to my texts and—”

Bea cut in boldly. “MUMMY! I have the most brilliant idea. Now that we’re putting the guests at different resorts and so many cowards are canceling, won’t we have room for Eden?”

Eden shook her head, trying to make eye contact with Bea. Not a brilliant idea, especially when the countess was clearly in a hypomanic state.

Arabella froze for a moment, looking up from her packing but not saying anything. Suddenly, her eyes caught on Eden. “Why are you wearing Granny’s Burmese-ruby Boucheron necklace?”

“I was just using Eden’s neck as my mannequin. Hasn’t she got the most gorgeous long Audrey Hepburn neck? See how useful she can be? Like you said, we need all hands on deck. And, Papa, remember how we felt so bad that Mummy couldn’t find enough room for the Tongs on the guest list, try as she might? We can have both Eden AND Uncle Thomas at the wedding now!”

Eden and Thomas exchanged wide-eyed looks, like mice trapped in the midst of stampeding elephants.

“Good thinking, Bea, but I do think the Tongs are too busy to get away on such short notice,” Francis said haltingly. He was all too aware that the last thing his friend wanted was to be anywhere near the cursed event.

“Yes, terribly busy week. Lots of patients,” Thomas chimed in.

Bea wouldn’t give up. “Dr. Tong, there will be lots of patients for you at the wedding! Think of the hundreds of guests and the lifethreatening things they’ll be doing—whale watching, volcano trampling, all-you-can-eat-buffet eating. What if one of those decrepit

ex-royals keels over from too much Spam Loco Moco?* It’ll be good to have a doctor around. Two doctors, actually. I keep forgetting Eden’s a doctor. And, Mummy, don’t you see, Eden will be especially helpful . . . with OS.”

Suddenly Arabella’s eyes lit up and she seemed to recover slightly. “Yes, she will be good for OS, won’t she? Eden, you’ll offer your assistance, won’t you, in our time of need?”

Eden couldn’t fathom what the countess was referring to, but she knew the only appropriate response at this moment was to nod. She had been aware since a very young age that the countess didn’t consider the Tongs as equals to the Greshams—as the family doctor, Thomas Tong was barely a notch above the butler, and Eden merely a playmate for her children when it suited them. The countess, in her infinite self-absorption, hadn’t a clue how beloved Eden had become to her own children.

Bea, of course, did not make the same distinctions as her mother, and she cheered jubilantly. “Yay! It’s settled then. The Tongs are coming to Hawaii!” She grabbed Eden by the hand and pulled her out of the room before her mother could change her mind.

“My god, Bea. What have you done?”

“I can’t believe my plan actually worked! You have no idea, I’ve been scheming for months to get you invited!”

“Bea, I can’t just take off work for a whole week at the last minute, and I know nothing about organizing weddings,” Eden grumbled at this sudden turn of events. As much as she wanted to visit Hawaii, she didn’t fancy going as a glorified member of the Gresham staff.

“You can Zoom with your patients, and don’t worry, my mother has an army of wedding planners working around the clock as it is.

* A local Hawaiian delicacy consisting of white rice topped with slices of fried Spam, brown gravy, and a sunny-side-up egg, it was said to have been created in the 1940s when Hawaiian diners requested a dish they could afford. Spam is beloved comfort food throughout the Pacific, ever since the luncheon meat was served to GIs during World War II and adopted into local cuisines from Singapore to Saipan. My favorite Spam Loco Moco is at Tex Drive-In in Honokaa, and be sure to try their freshly made malasadas, a Portuguese fried donut that, similar to Spam, also found its way to Hawaii somehow.

We won’t have to do much except order them around and work on our tans.”

“So what’s this OS you keep talking about?”

“Plenty of time to tell you about OS later. Go pack your bags!”

“That’s the other thing—I have nothing to wear!” Eden sighed in exasperation.

“Sure you do. You can borrow my clothes. I’ll lend you the peach Dolce. Oh my god I’m so excited I need to have a wee! WHEELS UP AT NINE A.M.!!!”

LADY ARABELLA’S REVENGE

That roar you hear in the sky is the swoosh of all the private jets that will be landing at Kona airport this week for the nuptials of Lady Augusta Gresham and Prince Maximillian zu Liechtenburg. Despite an unfortunately timed volcanic eruption at the wedding site, the show must go on for this season’s most superb dynastic match. It’s a rule the Greshams have always followed, a rule that’s made them one of the most chronicled clans in these pages.

First there was Countess Arabella Gresham’s iconic portrait dressed in a gothic Alexander McQueen gown astride a zebra in the drawing room of Greshamsbury Hall. Then there was Lady Augusta and Lady Beatrice commanding the cover in vintage Shanghainese cheongsams to mark their twenty-first and sixteenth birthdays, respectively. And who could forget the photo that became the home screen of every girl in SW3—the bare-chested Viscount Rufus ironing his shirt before Radley’s Charity Fashion Show.

That roar you hear in the sky is the swoosh of all the private jets that will be landing at Kona airport this week for the nuptials of Lady Augusta Gresham and Prince Maximillian zu Liechtenburg. Despite an unfortunately timed volcanic eruption at the wedding site, the show must go on for this season’s most superb dynastic match. It’s a rule the Greshams have always followed, a rule that’s made them one of the most chronicled clans in these pages.

First there was Countess Arabella Gresham’s iconic portrait dressed in a gothic Alexander McQueen gown astride a zebra in the drawing room of Greshamsbury Hall. Then there was Lady Augusta and Lady Beatrice commanding the cover in vintage Shanghainese cheongsams to mark their twenty-first and sixteenth birthdays, respectively. And who could forget the photo that became the home screen of every girl in SW3—the bare-chested Viscount Rufus ironing his shirt before Radley’s Charity Fashion Show.

“My children were fortunate enough to be born at the right time—when being half Asian is seen as an asset rather than a curse,” the countess declares in the matter-of-fact manner that has endeared her to so many. But there’s a story from Arabella’s early years in London that she likes to tell. The young mother was playing with her infant daughter in the gardens by her Thurloe Square house (the big one on the corner) when she was approached by two ladies—a middle-aged mother and her thirtysomething daughter.

“The older woman said, ‘Excuse me, do you speak English?’ I was used to this question, so I simply nodded. The younger woman said, ‘We see you here every day. You’re so good with the baby. She clearly adores you.’ ‘Thank you,’ I replied. And then the older woman leaned over and whispered, ‘Whatever

“The older woman said, ‘Excuse me, do you speak English?’ I was used to this question, so I simply nodded. The younger woman said, ‘We see you here every day. You’re so good with the baby. She clearly adores you.’ ‘Thank you,’ I replied. And then the older woman leaned over and whispered, ‘Whatever FROM THE

“My children were fortunate enough to be born at the right time—when being half Asian is seen as an asset rather than a curse,” the countess declares in the matter-of-fact manner that has endeared her to so many. But there’s a story from Arabella’s early years in London that she likes to tell. The young mother was playing with her infant daughter in the gardens by her Thurloe Square house (the big one on the corner) when she was approached by two ladies—a middle-aged mother and her thirtysomething daughter.

they’re paying you, we’ll double it.’ I was so confused, and then it hit me: These women think I’m the nanny! Because I’m Chinese, and my half-British daughter doesn’t look like me!” Lady Arabella recalls with a laugh. It’s easy for Lady Arabella to dismiss the casual racism that she encountered back then, because no one would ever mistake her for the help nowadays. The couture-clad countess is regarded as one of the world’s best-dressed women and the visionary behind some of the most drop-dead chic hotels on the planet. It all began three decades ago when Arabella first caught the fashion world’s attention—and, more important, the eye of Francis, 18th Earl of Greshamsbury—as she walked the runway of Azzedine Alaïa’s show in Paris.

they’re paying you, we’ll double it.’ I was so confused, and then it hit me: These women think I’m the nanny! Because I’m Chinese, and my half-British daughter doesn’t look like me!” Lady Arabella recalls with a laugh.

It’s easy for Lady Arabella to dismiss the casual racism that she encountered back then, because no one would ever mistake her for the help nowadays. The couture-clad countess is regarded as one of the world’s best-dressed women and the visionary behind some of the most drop-dead chic hotels on the planet. It all began three decades ago when Arabella first caught the fashion world’s attention—and, more important, the eye of Francis, 18th Earl of Greshamsbury—as she walked the runway of Azzedine Alaïa’s show in Paris.

A whirlwind romance followed by a glorious wedding ensued, though Arabella soon discovered that life at Greshamsbury Hall wasn’t exactly a fairy tale. The local gentry, it seemed, weren’t prepared to put out their welcome mats for the Hong Kong girl who had snagged the dashing viscount who could trace his lineage back to Edward the Confessor (and perhaps more crucially was heir to one of the few earldoms still in possession of its vast lands and even vaster trusts).

“Oh, they were downright mean at first. Every move I made was criticized— from the stiletto boots I wore to the village fête to how badly I curtseyed to Princess Alexandra when she came to visit. Nowadays, everyone pretends that it never happened, but they know who they are,” the preternaturally youthful countess says with a wink. While Lord Francis “could not have cared less what anyone thought,” Arabella decided to rethink her game.

“Look, I was never under the illusion it would be easy. I knew my family was never going to be accepted as truly English. At first I tried to follow my mother-in-law, who was a stickler for tradition, but everything I did only made me stand out. Then I realized, I’ll never not stand out, so why fight it? I knew then I had to create my own style and do things my way.”

The first thing she did was give Greshamsbury Hall a sorely needed restoration—its first in more than a century. Out went the ancient Aga and the decomposing Tassinari et Chatel damask, and in came a bold, futurist East meets West look that designers now dub “Arabella Chic.” “I was the first to do forty-eight layers of tobacco lacquer on the floors of a manor house. I was the first to mix brutalist furniture with wicker.”

36 Kevin Kwan

Arabella credits her own mother for her confidence to upend centuries of tradition. “My mother grew up in Shanghai, which was the Paris of the East, so for her, Asian Fusion wasn’t a fad, it was a way of life.” Arabella’s barrister father hailed from one of Hong Kong’s most respected legal families. “People are constantly surprised to learn that I didn’t grow up in a rice paddy. My grandfather and father both went to Oxford, and we had a house in Kowloon Tong with five servants.”

After every shelter magazine raved over the transformation of Greshamsbury Hall, everyone jockeyed to be invited. By this time, the Greshams had no need for the neighbors—they were already playing in a different social stratum, one that mixed Hollywood royalty, design pashas, and global plutocrats. “We host truly diverse, inclusive weekends. We invite Malay sultans, Nigerian oil barons, Indian oligarchs. Everyone is welcome!” Arabella proudly declares.

The countess never imagined that her modern spin on Marco Polo would spawn her own design and hospitality empire, but after a famously finicky Qatari prince spent the weekend and was wowed by the countess’s hospitality, he commanded her to design a hotel in London “for people who can only bear to stay in palaces when they travel,” promising to book out the entire place every year for the London Season. Arabella quickly conceived of Bella’s, the gemlike London oasis that has set the standard for boutique establishments everywhere. Then came the Bella outposts in Hong Kong, Antwerp, and the Maldives, all of which possess the perfect alchemy of understated glamour, exquisite service, and discretion that have made them de rigueur destinations for the cognoscenti.

Now Arabella is poised to unveil her biggest creation—a super-luxe ecoresort on the Big Island of Hawaii that, if early whispers are to be believed, should make the Aman folks very nervous. (Three of the villas come with their own private waterfalls.) One might think all this was part of Arabella’s master plan all along. “Never my intention—I just needed a home that wasn’t so drafty my babies would die of pneumonia.”

Speaking of which, Arabella’s babies are all grown up and have clearly inherited their parents’ unaffected charm and effortless style. Lady Augusta, whose ethereal beauty and gravity-defying Ashtanga yoga poses on the beaches of Bali log millions of views, is merging her own wellness brand

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