8,888-square-foot penthouse and point out the new city that stretched as far as the eye could see. “A decade ago, all this was farmland. Now it is the center of the world,” he would say.
Today, as Jack sat on the titanium and Mongolian gazelle lounge chair Marc Newson had custom designed for him, sipping his glass of 2005 Château Pétrus on the rocks, his thoughts lingered on the memory of an afternoon spent alone at the Palace of Versailles at the end of a business trip, where he delighted in stumbling upon a small exhibition devoted to Chinese antiquities in the court of Louis XIV. He was admiring a portrait of the Emperor Qianlong in a small gallery tucked behind the Hall of Mirrors when a large tour group of Chinese tourists crowded into the space. A man in head-to-toe Stefano Ricci pointed at the portrait of the emperor dressed in a Manchu-style fur cap and murmured excitedly, “Genghis Khan! Genghis Khan!”
Jack left the gallery hastily, afraid he might be associated with this group of ignorant Chinese. Imagine these heathens not knowing one of their greatest emperors, who ruled for more than sixty years! But as he strolled along the grand canal that bisected the majestic gardens of Versailles, he began to wonder whether the French themselves might today recognize a portrait of their own king who had built such an impressive monument to his power. Now, as Jack stared out at the curving crescent of golden lights along the Pudong waterfront, counting the buildings that belonged to him, he pondered his own legacy, and how the people of this new China might remember him in centuries to come.
The familiar click-click of his daughter’s high heels soon broke the silence, and Jack quickly removed the ice cubes from his wine and tossed them into the potted tan hua plant nearby. He knew Colette would scold him if she saw them. A couple of ice cubes missed the Ming ceramic planter and skidded across the floor, leaving faint red streaks along the Emperador marble.
Colette barged into his study all a-huff. “What’s wrong? Is Mother okay? Is Nainai okay?”
“Your grandmother is still alive as far as I know, and your mother is at her reflexology appointment,” Jack said calmly.
“Then why did you need me so urgently? I was in the middle of a very important dinner with the world’s most acclaimed chefs!”
“And that’s more important than seeing your own father? You come back from Paris and you would rather dine with the help?”
“This top truffle dealer was about to offer me his prized white Alba truffle when you called, but now I think that sneaky Eric Ripert has snagged it. I was going to surprise you with the truffle.”
Jack let out a snort. “What really surprises me is the way you keep disappointing me over and over again.”
Colette stared at her father quizzically. “What have I ever done to disappoint you?”
“The fact that you don’t even know is so telling. I went to such lengths to help Richie Yang orchestrate the perfect proposal to you, and look what you did in return.”
“You were part of that whole scheme? Of course you were—if I had planned the affair, it would have been so much more tasteful!”
“That’s not the point. The point is that you were supposed to say yes, like any normal girl who is being serenaded by one of the most expensive singers in the world.”
Colette rolled her eyes. “I like John Legend, but even if you had paid John Lennon to rise from the grave and sing ‘All You Need Is Love’ to me, the answer would still be no.”
Colette saw something move out of the corner of her eye and turned to find her mother standing by the doorway. “What are you doing skulking in the shadows? Have you been home all this time? You knew Dad was involved all along, didn’t you?”
“Aiyah, I couldn’t believe it when you turned Richie down! We have both wanted this for you ever since you started dating him three years ago,” her mother said with a deep sigh, planting herself down on the gilded settee.
“It’s not like I’ve been seeing him exclusively. I’ve been dating many other men.”
“Well, you’ve had your fun, and now it’s high time you got married. I had you by the time I was your age,” Mrs. Bing chastised.
“I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation! Why did you send me to the most progressive schools in England if