and were busy sipping Veuve Clicquot and nibbling on the foie gras being passed to them every few minutes by Khoi’s pretty female servants. This evening, each servant wore an ao of buttle green, the signature color of Lua Nguyen Thanh.
Khoi had once told me that the secret to the color was that everyone thought it was emerald green, but it was actually bottle green. “As in, the exact color of a bottle of rice wine,” he’d said. “It’s just on silk, so it looks a little darker, giving it the richness of emerald with the hint of something familiar. It’s a secret mix of the elegant and the everyday.” The result was the best color green ever produced.
With their hair uniformly cut in a bunt, chin-length bob, set off by a single waved lock, the servants looked nearly identical. The silk-factory dolls, Khoi had once called them. “It’s ridiculous,” he’d said the first time I attended one of his parties. “But my father likes them to be half servants, half models for Nguyen silk. And it works. Every female guest commissions something before she leaves. Even the French ones.”
Khoi joined me a few minutes later, surprised to see me still by the door. I glanced at him but looked quickly back to the Lesages, sensing Victor’s eyes on us. I hadn’t seen him since the night we’d met in September, and in only two and a half months he seemed changed. His face still wore that imperious look, but also a shadow of fatigue. He looked older, not as fresh as he had that evening at the club. Perhaps ordering men’s deaths was taking its toll.
Jessie was not seated near me for the meal, but after we’d finished and everyone was adjourning to the sitting rooms or the outdoor terrace, she rushed up to me and took my arm. I could tell she was drunk.
I lit myself a cigarette and handed her one, too. She hesitated a moment and then began to smoke.
“Marcelle,” she cooed as we strolled outside. “This place. I assumed Khoi was well-off after seeing his boat, but this is something else altogether. It must be three times the size of our house.”
“Oh, no,” I said, inhaling deeply. “It can’t be more than double the size.” I looked at her, barely able to get the cigarette to her mouth. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you since that boat trip. I hope all the nonsense that went on that night didn’t leave you disgusted with us.” We sat in planter’s chairs, and I inched mine closer to her, draping my arm behind her.
“Of course not,” she said breezily. “I suppose that’s just how things are here. In the Orient.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” I said.
“Red didn’t come tonight,” she said loudly, her words slurred.
“Red?” I replied, suppressing a grin. “Of course not. I thought it would be impertinent to invite him. What with your husband here and all. Would you like me to telephone him now? Shall I invite him to join us?”
“No, please don’t,” she said quickly. “I was just expecting him. You seem to always be with him.”
“I’m seldom with him,” I countered. “Where I always am is here.”
“That’s bold of you,” she said, looking around at the mixed group. “To host a party with your lover.” She rubbed her eyes, as if she couldn’t quite believe what was in front of her.
“Is it?” I said, noting the mascara that she’d smudged. “I suppose. But life must be lived boldly in the colony if one is to survive. If I were to sit at home, lamenting Arnaud while he jumped in and out of other women’s beds, I wouldn’t make it here. Khoi is my life vest.”
“And one with a palace,” said Jessie. “That’s convenient.”
I looked back at the house. Every light was on, and against the night sky, it was at its most transfixing.
“I like it best like this,” I said, admiring it for the thousandth time.
“So do I,” she replied, “and I’ve only seen it this once.”
I looked at her, her body sprawled awkwardly, her dress moving up her thighs. I had never seen her so intoxicated. “And I liked that bird-spit soup more than I thought I would,” she added.
“Bird’s nest,” I said, unable to suppress a laugh. “But bird’s spit is actually more accurate, since it’s made from the saliva of swiftlets. Very good for your health.”
She nodded, tried to sit up straighter, but fell off the end of the chair.