Chapter 24
24
After she left Ket Siong at the restaurant, Renee took a taxi home. She smiled dry-eyed at the night-shift receptionist as she passed through the foyer, and went up in the lift to her empty flat, where she lived alone.
She sat down on her pink velvet sofa and burst into tears.
After a while, she got up and washed her face. According to her phone, she’d only been sobbing for ten minutes. It could have been an hour, for all she could tell. The universe seemed to have come off its hinges. Everything felt unreal.
She returned to her sofa, with her laptop this time, and typed Stephen Ensengei Freshview into the search bar.
Freshview’s PR team had evidently been at work. She had to wade through several pages’ worth of corporate guff before she started turning up reports on the local community’s campaign against logging in Ensengei.
It did seem Freshview had overseen a project clearing forest to make way for oil palm plantations in Sarawak, but it wasn’t obvious from the reports that this had been on a gazetted forest reserve. Freshview denied it. They’d had all the necessary permits, according to their spokespeople, and a court of law had agreed with them.
Even the extent to which the local community disapproved wasn’t clear. Against the pictures of villagers protesting, there was an interview with a village headman who enthused about the project. Everyone had been compensated for their land and would be moved into better houses, he said, with access to schools and hospitals—all the benefits of development. It was a great opportunity for the village.
It was hard to know what to think. Cutting down rainforest was definitely not the kind of enterprise Renee wanted to get involved in—but she wasn’t going to be involved in anything like that. The factory redevelopment Chahaya was pitching for was going to create jobs, build sorely needed new homes, regenerate an entire neglected part of London. Even if Freshview’s money hadn’t all been made in pursuits she could approve of, wasn’t that a good use of those resources?
Stephen Jembu was mentioned in a few of the articles as a campaigner. Searching his name confirmed this was Ket Siong’s Stephen. There were various local news articles and social media posts on his disappearance, all using the same image of Stephen. A stocky curly-haired man in his thirties, dressed for a hike, standing against a backdrop of greenery. He was squinting a little in the sun and smiling, an attractive web of wrinkles radiating out from the corner of each eye.
Renee spent a long time looking at him.
The articles told her less than Ket Siong had. While they set out what had happened to Stephen Jembu, they were frustratingly silent on the how and why. There was nothing linking his disappearance to Freshview, except a solitary Facebook post by some outfit called the Hornbill Gazette . Even that only raised questions; it didn’t provide any answers.
It transpired the Hornbill Gazette had written a lot about deforestation in Ensengei, including a couple of blog posts about Stephen. Before Renee could read them, the app she’d set to switch off her Internet connection at bedtime kicked in.
She tore herself away from her laptop, her mind whirling. She showered and changed and collapsed on her bed.
She should text Ket Siong. And say what? I couldn’t find any evidence of what you told me. If what Ket Siong believed was true—if Freshview was complicit in some way in the horrific loss of his friend—they would have covered it up. Renee wasn’t going to stumble across a smoking gun through a Google search.
She rolled over and picked up her phone off her bedside table, opening WhatsApp. Ket Siong hadn’t messaged. Not that she wanted him to message.
She shouldn’t have let him pay for dinner. On an impulse, Renee searched for the restaurant menu, totted up the cost of her dinner, and sent the amount to him by bank transfer.
It didn’t make her feel any better. She lay awake for a long time, sleep evading her.
The next morning Renee was puffy-eyed and pale, but it was nothing some concealer and blush wouldn’t hide. She put on her Dior trouser suit and her Louboutin heels.
It was only when she looked at herself in the mirror that she remembered she’d worn almost the same outfit to the V the shoes pinched. Renee tore off her outfit, kicking off the heels.
She was not going to go to pieces over Yap Ket Siong again. If there were proof of what he’d told her the night before… But there wasn’t. No one even shared Ket Siong’s suspicions of Freshview, except some fringe blogger with a goofy name.
Yet he expected Renee to blow up her life and relationship with her family on his say-so. Because she was pathetic when it came to him, desperate for his good opinion, and on some level he knew that.
What was the difference between Ket Siong and her family, at the end of the day? They all wanted her to put them before herself. That was her greatest crime, the one none of these men could get over—Renee always acted for herself.
It wasn’t like she could trust anyone else to be in her corner. Her family had taught her that. As had Ket Siong, in his own way. She’d come too far to let any of them bring her down.
Do well today, and her life could change. She might, in a matter of a few months’ time, be heading up a business whose turnover dwarfed the GDP of some countries. She’d have her father’s approval, the respect of her family, access to money and power beyond most people’s wildest dreams.
Next to that, what was yet another man she’d disappointed? She’d always known love was a dead end for her.
Nathalie texted while Renee was in the cab heading to Freshview’s offices.
Big day today! Feeling OK? Good luck!
Yeah, thanks.
Renee stared down at her phone screen, hesitating. But why not tell Nathalie? If she’d turned to Nathalie as a confidante instead of Ket Siong, maybe she wouldn’t now be feeling like someone had torn her heart out of her chest and stamped on it.
Not feeling great, but it’ll be fine. You were right about Ket Siong. It was a bad idea.
That was going to drive Nathalie wild with curiosity. Renee added:
Going into my meeting, but I’ll tell you another time. I’ll need cocktails, though. Like six of them.
By the time Renee was alighting outside the imposing building on the Thames where Freshview had set up their London headquarters, Nathalie had messaged back a string of emojis: three knives, three hearts, and every representation of an alcoholic drink. Renee smiled and put her phone away.
The meeting room was on the top floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking down on the muddy brown expanse of the river. Autumn sunlight struck sparks off the waves and rendered the projector screen in the room impossible to make out.
Lin was by the door as Renee and Su Khoon entered, trying to figure out how to lower the blinds. She gave them a harassed smile.
There was a numerous team from Freshview in attendance, as well as stakeholders from local government and the Malaysian state investors backing the project. There were four women in total in the room, if you didn’t count the catering staff bringing in tall flasks of coffee and tea, biscuits, and glass bottles of still and sparkling water.
This gave Renee’s smile a slight edge as they went through the usual introductions. She was dreading getting to Andrew—he had been the first person she’d seen out of that sea of men, her eyes drawn inexorably to him.
The sight of him still made her body react like she was under threat, her stomach contracting, sweat springing up on her palms. Her heart thrummed in her chest. She hated that fear of him was threaded through her body, when she knew intellectually he was a gutless loser.
She wasn’t going to let him ruin this for her, either. When he shook her hand, she smiled, though it felt like a thousand tiny bugs were crawling over her skin.
“Looking forward to this,” Andrew said, nodding at the screen displaying the slides she and Su Khoon had wrangled over for the past two weeks. “We’re having lunch, when is it, next week? Can’t wait.”
“Mmm,” said Renee. With some men it was not necessary to speak, so long as you were making more or less the right noises and faces, and Andrew belonged to this class. He smiled as though she’d agreed with him.
“We’ll start now,” said Su Khoon. This was Business Su Khoon—polished and affable, projecting competence. “I wanted to begin by saying how much we value this opportunity and our relationship with Freshview…”
As Renee looked out at the faces of their audience, she was swamped by a wave of doubt, so intense it felt like vertigo. What was she doing here?
Images from the articles she’d read the night before crowded into her mind. The excavators and bulldozers on churned-up red earth; the gargantuan piles of logs; the groups of protestors, tiny next to the heavy machinery against which they were arrayed. And that picture of Stephen Jembu, squinting and smiling.
How many of these men knew about any of that? How many of them would care?
She put a hand down on the lectern to steady herself, panic constricting her chest. She couldn’t do this. She was going to be sick. She’d excuse herself discreetly, go to the bathroom—
She heard Su Khoon say, “Renee’s going to take you through some examples of our experience in construction. We think they show why we’re the best partner to take this project forward.”
He looked at her, expectant. Renee drove her fingernails into her palm, willing the sensation to ground her.
What would she do after she’d slipped out? Flee the building? She couldn’t even get to the bathroom without a keycard.
Su Khoon was frowning. “Renee?”
She could just see the contempt in his face if he realised she was wavering, considering pulling out, based on—what? Ket Siong’s unsubstantiated word and a handful of old articles.
The thought was like an injection of molten steel down her spine. She couldn’t humiliate herself like that, not when she’d fought so hard to have a part in this pitch.
She was here to do a job. She’d reconcile it with herself later.
She shoved down her qualms, pushing away the memory of Ket Siong’s eyes when he’d said, It’s not for me to tell you what to do.
He’d been right about that. Renee was committed now. She couldn’t afford to second-guess her actions. It was too late.
She breathed out, stretching her mouth into an approximation of a smile. “Thanks, Su Khoon. Could we have the next slide, please?”
At least it had always been easy to subsume her feelings in work. The script she’d prepared with Su Khoon came back to her, each comfortingly impersonal fact and figure slotting into place. Her nausea receded. Renee set herself aside and let the demands of the job take over.
“What was that about?” said Su Khoon, after the pitch. “You were zoning out when I called on you. Did you forget it was your turn or what?”
Their cab was inching through traffic, bringing them back to Su Khoon’s office so they could do a debrief with the team.
“Nerves,” said Renee lightly. “I always get jumpy before a presentation. It’s fine once I get into it.”
“You should work on that. We had a guy come in to train the senior leadership team last year,” said Su Khoon. “Personal impact, all that. He was not bad. Ask Penny, she can give you the details.”
Renee bristled at his condescension. But it was her own fault for freezing. She swallowed down her irritation with an effort. “Yeah. Sorry, it won’t happen again.”
Su Khoon waved his hand in dismissal. “You did a good job overall.”
Renee already knew this. She felt patronised, but also, despite herself, pleased.
“You too,” she said, as a means of maintaining some semblance of dignity.
She looked out of the window, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Any kind of public performance always left her buzzing. But this time, the elation of catching an audience’s attention and holding it was underlined by a queasy uncertainty, snaking through her gut.
The day wasn’t over yet. And she still had lunch with Freshview to get through in a week’s time. She had to stay focused, not let herself be dragged off course.
They had passed Waterloo Bridge and were heading along Embankment: a park screened by greenery on one side of the road, the river on the other. The grey obelisk of Cleopatra’s Needle flashed past, the polished black sphinxes on either side just visible behind yellow-crowned trees.
“What do you think of our chances?” she said, watching a police boat race along the river, throwing up plumes of water as it went.
“Should be strong.” Su Khoon sat back, adjusting his jacket. “Biggest risk is if we get undercut on costs.”
He’d wanted to quote more aggressively, but Renee had insisted on being realistic: “This needs to be profitable for us,” she’d argued. “Dad won’t thank us if we take a loss on one of the biggest redevelopment projects of the century. And it won’t do the Freshview relationship any good if we end up going over budget.”
“Every construction project goes over budget,” Su Khoon had grumbled, but he’d conceded.
Renee said nothing. They’d had the argument and she’d won. Only time would tell, now, if her strategy was sound.
Fortunately, Su Khoon didn’t seem inclined to relitigate the point, either. “We can try to pump Andrew and the rest for intel at the lunch next week.”
He took out his phone, so Renee followed suit, scrolling through her emails. Nothing was on fire at Virtu, literally or metaphorically. She needed to speak to the office building manager about the leak in the ceiling.
Maybe she’d be able to make progress on Virtu at Home during the lull while they waited for Freshview to make their decision. Might she even be able to twin the launch with the Chinese New Year womenswear collection? Two simultaneous launches might be too much even for their devoted customer base. But on the other hand, people would be thinking about entertaining around Chinese New Year, possibly in the mood to spend on a fancy bowl or five…
A thought struck her. “We should buy lunch for the team. Sushi?”
Su Khoon looked up from his phone, his forehead furrowed. “We haven’t won the deal yet and you want to reward them?”
“They’ve worked hard. We can do a proper meal out if we win the deal, but there’s no harm in treating them to a takeaway now,” said Renee. “This kind of attention makes a big difference. It makes people feel valued.” Su Khoon was looking skeptical, so she added, “Dad always says to invest in relationships.”
Su Khoon rolled his eyes. “With people who can get you somewhere. People like Andrew Yeoh. Not staff .”
Renee would have liked to roll her eyes, too, but she squashed the instinct. “Look, I’ll pay for it.”
“No, no. If you want to buy their hearts, go ahead.” Su Khoon dug his wallet out of his pocket and offered her a credit card. “They’ll think they’ve got it made. They’re already having a free holiday on the company account, you know.”
Despite the near-inconceivable improvement in their relations, Renee didn’t think their rapport was quite strong enough to survive her pointing out that not many people would consider two weeks of working twelve-hour days a holiday. She contented herself with taking the credit card from him. “Thanks, Er Ge.”
“I don’t know how your business can survive, if you’re so free with money,” said Su Khoon. “You know these people are all spying on us and reporting back to Dad, right?”
The thought had occurred to Renee, though she would have insisted on standing lunch for the staff anyway. “All the more reason to buy them sushi, isn’t it?”
Su Khoon blinked. Renee decided to enjoy her triumph discreetly, looking down at her phone.
She’d received a voice note from Nathalie, followed by a text:
How did the presentation go?
Good, thanks. Excited about listening to my new VN!
It’s not very exciting. I wasn’t sure whether to tell you, but I thought you’d want to know…
The cab was barely moving. Su Khoon was busy making a call. Renee gave in to temptation and put in her earphones.
Nathalie’s voice came through, sounding unusually grave.
“I am sorry about whatever it is that has happened with Ket. But—look, I haven’t been sure whether to mention this, especially since you decided to be ‘friends.’” The quotation marks were perfectly distinct in her voice, as was the disapproval. “But I was at Foyles a couple of weeks ago, and Ket was there, at the café with a woman. I am not saying it was a date, but I couldn’t tell you it was not a date. There was definitely something going on.
“I crept away like a little mouse so he did not see me. But…” Nathalie cleared her throat delicately. “I bumped into him later, in the bookshop. He was by himself. So I asked him, you know, what he was doing there. And he didn’t mention her. I don’t think he realised I saw him earlier.
“Of course, Ket does not have to tell me if he is meeting up with women. Maybe you know what it was all about, and I have been worrying for nothing. But”—at this point Nathalie’s voice grew fierce—“I remember always what he did to you and if he hurts you again, I will track him down and restring a piano with his intestines. You say the word and I will do it.”
Renee stifled a laugh. Even to herself, it sounded like a sob. Su Khoon was still on the phone, but he gave her a startled look.
She shook her head, pasting a smile on her face. She didn’t need to play Nathalie’s voice note a second time—every word was seared into her brain—but she did it anyway.
Her eyes were stinging. She wasn’t about to cry, that would be ridiculous. But she turned towards the window, away from Su Khoon, so he couldn’t see whatever it was that her face was doing.
She felt like she’d been slapped, absurd overreaction though it was. It wasn’t like Ket Siong had definitely been on a date—though Nathalie had never been wrong before when she sensed something was going on; her judgment in these matters was unimpeachable. In any case, even if Nathalie was right once again, it was none of Renee’s business what women Ket Siong met up with at cafés, or anywhere. She was the one who’d wanted things to stop at a hookup.
But he gave me his scarf, she thought stupidly. He put his scarf on me.
So what? jeered an inner voice. That means he belongs to you now? You’re betrothed because he lent you his scarf for five minutes? Don’t be pathetic.
Too late for that. Ten years too late.
She’d had good reasons for not wanting to date Ket Siong. If she’d had the sense to stay within the tidy lines she’d drawn for them, it would have been fine. Their friendship would have been safe, an inconsequential niceness that could never hurt her. But she’d never been able to keep a rein on her heart when it came to him.
The worst part was that she’d had a chance, at one point in time. Not anymore. Even if she reached out to him now, apologised, it was questionable whether he’d want anything to do with her. She’d lost his respect.
Who could blame him? Not much of what Renee had done over the past twenty-four hours was worthy of respect.
She couldn’t think about this anymore.
Renee fumbled for her phone.
No gross piano repairs needed, I promise. Got to work, but I’ll VN you this evening?
She paused, then typed:
Love you.
This was good, she told herself. It confirmed that her resolution to pull away from Ket Siong had been the right one. At least now she knew where she stood. There was no risk of her being carried away by the tide of her feelings again, wrecking herself against his indifference.
When Renee next checked her phone, after the debrief meeting with Su Khoon’s team and the call updating her dad on how the presentation had gone (during which Su Khoon had even let her talk for half a minute), Nathalie had messaged back.
Love you too.
But she hadn’t expected anything less from Nathalie. What spiked Renee’s heart rate, sent the blood rushing to her cheeks, was the notification of a message from Ket Siong.
I’m sorry about last night. I told you what I did because I trust your judgment, but I didn’t handle it well. I’d like to talk to you. Can we meet?
Renee’s throat ached. She wanted so much to reply. For things to go differently this time around.
She almost did. But then that snapshot of Stephen Jembu came back to her—his hair ruffled by the wind, eyes creased.
Her heart failed her. What could she say to Ket Siong, if they met? How could she look him in the eye?
Renee felt abruptly sick of herself, sick of her family. Sick, most of all, of Yap Ket Siong. He was one of the only people she’d ever known who’d liked her for who she was, who didn’t want anything more from her than she was happy to give. She’d been enough for him as she was, no more and no less. Until she wasn’t.
She didn’t have time for this. She’d promised to write up a note on the morning’s presentation for Su Khoon to circulate to Chahaya’s top team. The call with the Virtu office building manager was in half an hour’s time, and she needed to email her supplier about the homeware samples that had come in.
She tapped out:
I don’t think that’s a good idea, sorry.
Then Renee blocked his number, so she wouldn’t have to keep thinking about him and all the ways they’d let each other down.