‘Yes, more?’

‘No.’

‘Ah! Less. Good. Meet me round the back of your hotel in five minutes.’

Ben hung up. Cat turned to Rachel. What had Rachel been saying? Something about Vasily. Poor sod who missed the maillot jaune by so little. He must have dumped the burden of it all on his soigneur, poor girl. Cat tipped her head and smiled at Rachel. She held up her mobile phone.

‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, careful not to lie, ‘I’ve been summoned – in context of this afternoon. I’m going to have to go.’

Rachel nodded, hiding her disappointment well. ‘Sure,’ she said to Cat, ‘you have a job to do.’

And this is one of the perks, Cat did not say out loud.

She observed Rachel still looking somewhat discomfited. ‘Rachel,’ she said, ‘can I shadow you tomorrow?’

Rachel looked at Cat. ‘Sure,’ she said, ‘but there’s no feed as it’s a short Stage – how about the day after?’

‘That would be great,’ Cat enthused. ‘I might pop by in the morning as the start isn’t till one-ish.’

‘Sure,’ said Rachel. ‘You’d better go,’ she continued, suddenly wanting to be alone anyway. Cat went. Rachel remained in the toilet a few minutes more. She stared at her reflection.

Saved by the bell – if Cat hadn’t had that call, I’d be deep into revelation by now.

‘Fuck it,’ she said softly, ‘there’s nothing to discuss really anyway. It probably didn’t mean anything to Vasily – he’s more than likely forgotten it already.’

And for you, Rachel? What did it mean? You’ve thought of little else.

‘The clear light of tomorrow, after a night’s sleep, will render whatever it was insignificant.’

But you’re not speaking for yourself, that’s just your conjecture for Vasily.

‘It was just somewhat disconcerting, that’s all.’

Rachel returned to the bar. Alex and Josh had replenished her Seize and were on to their fourth apiece, aided and abetted by a packet of Gauloises with a fair few missing.

‘Are you all right?’ Josh asked, leaving the chair that had been Rachel’s and taking his place back on a stool.

‘Got the shits?’ Alex asked in his inimitable way.

‘I’m fine,’ Rachel said.

‘Where’s Cat?’ Josh asked.

‘Has she got the shits?’ Alex asked.

‘She got a call through,’ Rachel shrugged, ‘she went directly to work.’

‘Oh,’ said Alex.

‘Oh,’ said Josh. Both men wondered how the novice journaliste could possibly have usurped them in the scoops stakes. It was just somewhat disconcerting, that’s all.

Ben took Cat to Arcachon, where the sand dunes were emphatically moonlit and all was gloriously private and, though a short car ride from Bordeaux, a million miles from the Tour de France, from the times and trials of journalism and medicine. Foreplay hardly figured. The last twenty-four hours had seemed to both Cat and Ben to have been a prolonged preparation for penetration.

The sand was cool and though Ben had thoughtfully brought a towel, they did not lie on it. They undressed themselves; standing naked and silent, Ben passed Cat a condom which she unwrapped and placed on him. They knelt, kissed and he entered her smoothly, easily. The feeling of being filled by a man whom she so desired, the sensation of a cock inside her after a barren few months, the sensitivity with which he kissed her eyelids, licked her neck, slipped his tongue into her mouth, the adeptness with which he moved his body into hers, made her come almost immediately. He let her orgasm subside. The feeling of a tight pussy of a girl he was mad for, the pleasure of hearing her gasp, the excitement of sensing her sex quiver and pulsate around him, the surprise of her tongue dipping in and out of his nostrils, his ears, made him come soon after.