We live in a residential development which was originally built to house expatriates but which has now become home to many wealthy Chinese. We had a famous Chinese pop singer here for a while, and rumours of an actress. Mysteriously, several residents have cars with numberplates belonging to the People’s Armed Police. I say mysteriously, because in China public servants don’t earn the kind of salaries that can pay the mortgage or the rent on a house. So quite what the People’s Armed Police are doing here isn’t entirely clear.
Recently, another mystery has been playing itself out in front of our eyes. Directly opposite our house is a large house that for the past several months has undergone huge renovations. The place has been gutted and rebuilt bigger than ever, windows smashed and replaced, gardens landscaped…still, no sign of a new occupier.
Until this week, that is, when every evening, from about 9 pm onwards, a team of well-dressed young men and women has been busily readying the house for its new occupant, aided by uniformed maids with dusters. Their efforts have taken place in brightly lit rooms with large windows, and we’ve had no option but to observe their labours playing like a film on a big screen. We’re not the only ones who’ve been watching – the compound employs security guards, and several of these have abandoned their patrols to come and stand outside gazing as crystal chandeliers have been polished, remote-control curtains tested, pictures hung and pot plants trimmed.
Two nights ago, at one thirty in the morning, a stretch Mercedes was parked outside the house. A van arrived, and from it were brought box after box. These were delivered to the team in the house, who unpacked items from the boxes and then sent the empty boxes back out to be chucked over the wall of the empty house next door.
Next morning, I looked out the window to see two security guards rummaging among the empty boxes, looking to see whether there was anything worth salvaging. One of them found two silver tiaras decorated with pink fronds. He removed his beret and replaced it with the tiara so that the pink fronds hung coquettishly over his eyes. Both guards fell around laughing for a few moments. Then the guard replaced his beret, and they walked off, tiaras in hand, well-pleased by their find.
Since then we’ve seen the new occupier fleetingly, sitting in a leather armchair at a computer, and surrounded by men who seem to be bodyguards as he gets in and out of his stretch Mercedes. He’s a dapper Chinese man in his forties, I’d say, who wears dark suits with a yellow silk tie, and he has a wife and a young child. I’ve started my enquiries into who our new neighbour might be, but can’t tell you yet. We just hope he continues to live his glamorous life in bright light, and with the curtains wide open.