Read Online The Seed Collectors by Scarlett Thomas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Scarlett Thomas
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darling. I’ll put yours in the post. We keep forgetting.’
‘We do.’
‘I expect we’re very busy.’
Fleur smiles. ‘I expect we are.’
The afternoon tea arrives. When Augustus picks up his fork Fleur notices that his hands are shaking. He started growing opium to give to Cecily after her breakdown, but now he takes much more thanshe ever did. Much more than Fleur does. He says it helps his malaria, but who takes opium for malaria? The last time anyone seriously took opium for malaria in this country was in the sixteenth century. But at least it’s something they have in common. Some reason for choosing nice cards to send each other. Although Fleur isn’t allowed to sign hers with her own name.
‘So is this the fashion?’ he asks her, still looking at the dress. ‘I’ll have to tell Cecily.’
Fleur thinks about the story of the two celibate monks who come to a flooded piece of road. There is a beautiful woman there, and so one of the monks lifts her and carries her past the flood. The other one can’t believe he has done this, and sulks for miles. Eventually, he confronts his friend and asks him why he did it. His friend simply replies, ‘I put her down several miles ago but you, my brother, seem still to be carrying her.’
‘It’ll be over by the summer,’ says Fleur. ‘I wouldn’t bother.’
Actually, it won’t quite be over by the summer. According to Skye Turner’s stylist, colour is going to go on into Autumn/Winter and possibly even beyond into S/S12, although there’s also a sixties vibe in the air that she thinks may come to something. Maybe a pencil skirt thing. Fleur learned this earlier on when she was waiting for Skye to emerge from the larger of the two bathrooms in her hotel suite. There were handbags everywhere, about £30,000 worth, that Skye had been sent for free just that morning. She didn’t want any of them because one of them was named after a celebrity more famous than her. The stylist was going to take the lime green one for herself, but offered Fleur the yellow one. Fleur didn’t want it. Being surrounded by Hindus all the time makes leather kind of awkward. ‘Are you mad?’ the stylist said. ‘Take it and put it on eBay.’ But Fleur couldn’t be bothered. She probably should have got it for Bryony, though. Now she wants to stop this awkward conversation Augustus is planning to have before it even starts. Cecily, presumably, has herown ideas about clothes. Fleur sees her gardening painfully in white nightdresses at midnight, or visiting the doctor in linen trousers that sag around the arse, or grey asymmetrical dresses that make her look about twenty years older than she is. Fleur hears bits and pieces about her from Clem, who doesn’t really feel comfortable having a stepmother only five years older than she is, especially one who can barely walk and so must be pitied a little.
‘Really, fashion isn’t worth trying to keep up with.’
‘Well, you certainly seem to keep up with it.’
‘I don’t. I just wear what random stylists give me, or what gets left behind at the house. Honestly, being around celebrities all the time would turn anyone off fashion.’
‘How is the business?’ asks Augustus.
‘Good. Great, really. Although who knows what’s going to happen now that . . .’
‘But the place is making enough money?’
‘Yes, of course. For now. With Oleander gone I’m having to do a lot more of the one-to-one stuff, you know, like the therapy and the yoga and . . .’
And helping the Prophet make his parcels now that his one arm isn’t so good.
A bit of watering sometimes in the room above the orangery where no one goes.
Because if the universe didn’t want her to do this, then the universe would not have set it all up like this, and her mother would not have gone on that trip to meet the Lost People and would presumably not have become such a Lost Person herself. Although in some way she was always lost, which was what started
‘We do.’
‘I expect we’re very busy.’
Fleur smiles. ‘I expect we are.’
The afternoon tea arrives. When Augustus picks up his fork Fleur notices that his hands are shaking. He started growing opium to give to Cecily after her breakdown, but now he takes much more thanshe ever did. Much more than Fleur does. He says it helps his malaria, but who takes opium for malaria? The last time anyone seriously took opium for malaria in this country was in the sixteenth century. But at least it’s something they have in common. Some reason for choosing nice cards to send each other. Although Fleur isn’t allowed to sign hers with her own name.
‘So is this the fashion?’ he asks her, still looking at the dress. ‘I’ll have to tell Cecily.’
Fleur thinks about the story of the two celibate monks who come to a flooded piece of road. There is a beautiful woman there, and so one of the monks lifts her and carries her past the flood. The other one can’t believe he has done this, and sulks for miles. Eventually, he confronts his friend and asks him why he did it. His friend simply replies, ‘I put her down several miles ago but you, my brother, seem still to be carrying her.’
‘It’ll be over by the summer,’ says Fleur. ‘I wouldn’t bother.’
Actually, it won’t quite be over by the summer. According to Skye Turner’s stylist, colour is going to go on into Autumn/Winter and possibly even beyond into S/S12, although there’s also a sixties vibe in the air that she thinks may come to something. Maybe a pencil skirt thing. Fleur learned this earlier on when she was waiting for Skye to emerge from the larger of the two bathrooms in her hotel suite. There were handbags everywhere, about £30,000 worth, that Skye had been sent for free just that morning. She didn’t want any of them because one of them was named after a celebrity more famous than her. The stylist was going to take the lime green one for herself, but offered Fleur the yellow one. Fleur didn’t want it. Being surrounded by Hindus all the time makes leather kind of awkward. ‘Are you mad?’ the stylist said. ‘Take it and put it on eBay.’ But Fleur couldn’t be bothered. She probably should have got it for Bryony, though. Now she wants to stop this awkward conversation Augustus is planning to have before it even starts. Cecily, presumably, has herown ideas about clothes. Fleur sees her gardening painfully in white nightdresses at midnight, or visiting the doctor in linen trousers that sag around the arse, or grey asymmetrical dresses that make her look about twenty years older than she is. Fleur hears bits and pieces about her from Clem, who doesn’t really feel comfortable having a stepmother only five years older than she is, especially one who can barely walk and so must be pitied a little.
‘Really, fashion isn’t worth trying to keep up with.’
‘Well, you certainly seem to keep up with it.’
‘I don’t. I just wear what random stylists give me, or what gets left behind at the house. Honestly, being around celebrities all the time would turn anyone off fashion.’
‘How is the business?’ asks Augustus.
‘Good. Great, really. Although who knows what’s going to happen now that . . .’
‘But the place is making enough money?’
‘Yes, of course. For now. With Oleander gone I’m having to do a lot more of the one-to-one stuff, you know, like the therapy and the yoga and . . .’
And helping the Prophet make his parcels now that his one arm isn’t so good.
A bit of watering sometimes in the room above the orangery where no one goes.
Because if the universe didn’t want her to do this, then the universe would not have set it all up like this, and her mother would not have gone on that trip to meet the Lost People and would presumably not have become such a Lost Person herself. Although in some way she was always lost, which was what started
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