Gone was Colette's Zen-like Puli Hotel –inspired decor, and in its place, Thierry Catroux had created a look he called "Ming emperor meets Louis-Napoléon at Studio 54." Ming dynasty urns mingled with rare Aubusson carpets against sixties-mod Italian leather-and-Lucite furniture, while the monochromatic Shikumen gray brick walls were now covered in Tibetan yak hair dyed in shimmering shades of persimmon. The eighty-foot-long east wall had been covered with purple-and-crimson latticework screens-in homage to the Hall of Dispelling Clouds at the Summer Palace in Beijing. Colette's prized collection of black-and-white Wu Boli calligraphy scrolls had been banished to the museum wing, and in its place were enormous paintings of vibrantly colored canvases by Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Keith Haring in antique rococo gilt frames. Kitty's guests flocked to her side, gushing about the radical transformation.
"It's unbelievable, Kitty," Pan TingTing praised.
"So … original, Kitty," Adele Deng demurred.
"You've really put your stamp on the house," Stephanie Shi said and smiled.
"It's such a trip, all that's missing are the quaaludes!" Michael Kors*2 said.
At some point during the social swirl, Araminta appeared at her side with a glass of champagne. "I thought you could use this. I can see you've been circulating nonstop."
"Oh thank you. Yes, everyone has been soooo nice, except for that awful Englishman over there talking to Hung Huang."
"Philip? But he's usually so charming!" Araminta furrowed her brow in surprise.
"Charming? Do you know what that snob said to me? When I asked him what he did, he actually dared to say, 'I'm a millionaire!' "
Araminta clutched Kitty's arm and doubled over in laughter. Trying to catch her breath, she said, "No, no, you're mistaken!"
Kitty continued her tirade, "So I said to him, 'Well, I'm a billionaire!' "
Wiping the tears of laughter away from her eyes, Araminta explained. "Kitty, that man is Philip Treacy. He's not a millionaire, he's a milliner-a hat designer. I'm sure that's what he told you. He's one of the best milliners there is-Perrineum Wang is wearing one of his hats right over there."
Kitty gazed at the young Shanghai socialite, who was sporting a gigantic flesh-colored disk with a bejeweled starfish of pink rubies in the middle that covered eighty percent of her face. "No wonder he gave me a strange look."
"Oh Kitty, you can always crack me up!" Araminta was still laughing when a pair of hands reached out from behind her and covered her eyes.
"Oh, who's this?" Araminta giggled.
"Three guesses," a man whispered into her ear in an extremely affected French accent.
"Bernard?"
"Non."
"Er … Antoine?"
"Non."
"Surely it can't be Delphine? I give up!" Araminta whipped around and saw a patrician-looking Chinese man in a three-piece suit and small round tortoiseshell glasses grinning back at her.
"Oliver T'sien, you rascal! You had me fooled with that ridiculous accent." Araminta giggled. "Oliver, have you met the chatelaine of this … er … magnificent estate, Kitty Bing?"
"I was hoping you'd introduce me," Oliver purred.
"Kitty, this is Oliver T'sien. He's an old friend from Singapore … and … aren't we somehow related now through Colin? Oliver is related to practically everyone who's anyone in Asia, and he's also the consultant at large for Christie's."
Kitty shook his hand politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you. You work for Christie's, the auction house?"
"Indeed I do."
"Oliver is one of the top specialists in Asian art and antiquities," Araminta continued.
"Hmm … there's a little horse sculpture in the library I would love to show you. My husband is convinced it's from the Tang dynasty, but I think it's a fake. His ex-wife bought it," Kitty said derisively.
"I am at your service, madame," Oliver said, extending an arm. They walked into the library, and Kitty led him to a magnificent Macassar and Gabon Boulle armoire in one corner. She pressed against the tortoiseshell-and-gilt-bronze marquetry doors, which opened to reveal a hidden entryway into Jack Bing's private cigar lounge.
"Well, this is quite splendid!" Oliver exclaimed, looking around the decadently upholstered room.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Kitty sank into one of the tasseled velvet Louis-Napoléon smoking chairs and breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad we're finally alone! How do you think it's going?"