I wouldn’t have imagined this as your sort of place," Ash said, looking at what Netherton knew to be only the first of several themed environments, this one hyper-lurid dawn in a generic desert. Something vaguely to do with downed airships, it was on the floor above the Kensington High Street showrooms of a designer of bespoke kitchens. She’d driven him here in one of Lev’s father’s antiques, an open two-seater reeking of fossil fuel.