Flowers 30. FLOWERS ‘Cheers for the warning, James,’ Kyle said. ‘I’ll get right on it.’ Kyle sat in the cab of a Japanese micro van, wearing jeans and a green polo shirt with the logo of Mayfair’s top flower delivery company embroidered over his nipple. After pocketing his phone, he started the engine and got honked by a black cab driver as he pulled out. ‘Sorry, mate,’ Kyle said, as he made an apologetic wave out of the window. The one-litre engine and high body didn’t make it easy to drive fast and then Kyle got trapped behind a dustcart on the last hundred-metre stretch. The Leith was a recently opened boutique hotel, with a gaudy pink and yellow reception and a surreal sculpture made from brass instruments sprouting from the ceiling. A doorman in pinstripes trotted towards Kyle as he stopped the van in the hotel driveway. ‘We have guests arriving imminently,’ the doorman warned. ‘You can’t stop here, poppet.’ ‘The Tan Abdullah party?’ Kyle asked. He hopped out of the van and noticed a small gathering on the opposite side of the narrow one-way street.
