initially in Vancouver, a direct flight from Hong Kong if he wanted to visit but far enough away for them not to be a nuisance. But her mother hated Vancouver; it was too wet, too dreary, too much a reminder of Hong Kong. She moved the girls to Toronto, and there were no objections from the Hong Kong side.
They saw their father maybe once or twice a year, and always in Toronto. He had bought their mother a house, had given her a generous allowance, and looked after any special needs. When he did come to visit, the girls called him Daddy. Their mother referred to him as her husband. For one or two weeks they would lead a “normal” family life. Then he was gone, and the couple’s contact would be reduced to a daily phone call.
It was, Ava realized later, a businesslike relationship. Their father had got what he wanted when he wanted it, and her mother had the two girls and a notional husband. He would never deny her or the family, and her mother knew that; so she deliberately set about squeezing him for every dollar’s worth of security she could get. He must have known what she was doing, but as long as she played by the rules, he was okay with it. So she had the house, she had a new car every two years, and she was the beneficiary of a life insurance policy that would replace her monthly allowance (and then some) if anything happened to him. He paid all the school fees, and she made sure the girls went to the most expensive and prestigious schools she could get them into. He paid separately for family vacations, dental work, summer camps, and special tutoring. He bought each of the girls their first car.
Marcus Lee had four children by his first wife, two with Jennie, and another two with wife number three. His third wife and their two children lived in Australia now, and Ava was sure that he loved and looked after them as much as he did the other children and wives. It was — at least to Westerners — a rather strange way to live. But in Chinese eyes it was traditional and acceptable, and Marcus Lee was respected for the manner in which he discharged his responsibilities. It wasn’t a lifestyle for a man without wealth. Marcus had been fortunate in that regard, making his first serious money in textiles before manufacturing went offshore to places such as Indonesia and Thailand. He made a successful transition into toys and again showed foresight by exiting before Vietnam and China became major players. Now most of the family’s capital was tied up in real estate in the New Territories and in the Shenzhen economic zone; by all accounts it was delivering a steady revenue stream and building value.
Jennie never worked again after Marian was born. Her life was devoted to being a second wife and to raising her two girls. Given her husband’s absence, her life’s focus had narrowed down to the girls. Not that their mother didn’t have other interests. She played mah-jong a couple of times a week, and once a week she took the Taipan bus north to Casino Rama for a day of baccarat. She had also made a semi-career out of shopping. Everything she bought had to be the best. She had a complete aversion to knockoffs; if she wanted a Gucci bag, it had to be a real Gucci bag.
Jennie Lee was well past fifty, but she didn’t look it and didn’t want to acknowledge it. She loved nothing better than being mistaken for her daughters’ older sister. And she spent money on maintaining that look: creams, lotions, herbs, hairstyling, clothes. Marian had two children of her own, but since they were being raised in Ottawa with their gweilo father, their Chinese was scant. They knew that gweilo means “grey ghost” in Cantonese. The other word they knew was langlei, which means “beautiful one.” That was how they referred to their grandmother. Calling her anything else — such as Grandma — was a no-no.
In many ways Ava’s mother was a princess, spoiled and self-indulgent. But then again, so many Chinese women were. They made the “Jewish princesses” Ava had known in university look like amateurs. And that thought crossed her mind once more, when she saw a woman in a red silk blouse with a copy of Sing Tao tucked under her arm walk into Lucky Season and survey the room.
She was tall for a Chinese woman, and made taller still by stiletto heels that looked as if they were made from the finest, most supple red leather. The silk blouse was worn with a pair of black linen slacks and a gold belt with the Chanel logo on the buckle. Her eyebrows were plucked into two thin lines and her face was caked with makeup. And even from a distance Ava could see the jewellery: enormous diamond stud earrings, two rings — one looked like a three-carat diamond, the other was carved green jade surrounded by rubies — and a crucifix encrusted with diamonds and emeralds. The only thing that marred the picture of a perfect Hong Kong princess was her hair, which was pulled back and secured demurely at the nape of her neck with a plain black elastic.
Ava stood and waved in her direction. The woman’s eyes settled on her, and in them Ava read — what? Disappointment? Recognition? Maybe she hadn’t been expecting a woman. Maybe she hadn’t been expecting one dressed in a black Giordano T-shirt and Adidas track pants.
They greeted each other in Cantonese, and then Ava said, “I do prefer English.”
“Me too,” she said. “My name is Alice.”
“Ava.”
“I know.”
They perused the dim sum menu, finally ticking off six boxes. When the waiter took their sheet away, Ava said, “I know this place seems ridiculously cheap, but the food is very good.”
“I’ve eaten here before,” Alice said.
“So, Alice, how do you know Andrew?”
“He’s my brother.”
“Ah.”
“That’s why I’m here. Andrew’s trying to keep this problem quiet. He doesn’t want to unnecessarily alarm other members of the family.”
“Someone else already knows — your relative in Hong Kong who went to my uncle.”
“He is my mother’s brother, our oldest uncle, and he is very discreet. But even then he doesn’t know that much, only that Andrew needs help collecting some money that is owed.”
“Three million dollars.”
“Actually, a bit more than that. Maybe closer to five million when all is said and done.”
“Is this one of those Chinese deals?” Ava asked.
Alice looked confused.
“You know,” Ava continued, “one of those deals where someone needs some money and can’t get it from a bank or other normal sources, so they go to their family, but if the family can’t come up with enough money they go to a friend of the family, or maybe he has a friend, an uncle, and the money finds its way to the person who needs it and there are handshakes all around — not a shred of paper — and everyone in the chain, all the family members and friends, has a share in the responsibility for making sure the money is repaid.”
“No, it wasn’t like that at all,” Alice said. She pulled a fat manila envelope from inside the Sing Tao. “Everything is in here. There’s a letter from my brother explaining how the deal was structured and how it progressed until it went off the rails. There’s all kinds of backup documentation: the original lending contract, purchase orders, letters of credit, invoices, emails. My brother is quite thorough.”
“That’s a welcome change,” Ava said.
The first of the dim sum arrived: chicken feet in chu hon sauce and crescent-shaped chive-and-shrimp dumplings. They both reached for the chicken feet, and the conversation waned as they sucked skin and meat from bone. Then came har gow, spicy salted squid, shrimp and meat wrapped in steamed bean curd, and radish cake. Alice kept Ava’s teacup full, and Ava tapped her finger on the table in a silent thank-you each time the other poured.
“Are you involved in the business?” Ava asked.
“No, I have nothing to do with it, but my brother and I are very close.”
“What kind of business is it?”
“It’s a company that specializes in financing purchase orders and letters of credit. You know how it is these days. Companies get big orders and may not have the money to finance production. Even if they have letters of credit, the banks can be very sticky. And even if the banks do help, it’s never for the whole amount. So my brother’s company fills in the gaps. It advances the company money for production — at very high interest rates, of course, but the companies know that upfront and build it into their margins.”
“How high?”
“Minimum two percent a month, normally three.”
“Nice.”
“They’re filling a gap.”
“I wasn’t being critical.”
“Anyway, once in a while they have a problem. Normally, because of the amount of due diligence they do — and because they don’t finance anything that seems risky and the purchase orders and letters of credit are typically
