On the Plateau de Boudin, Jawlensky’s team-mate Massimo Lipari, defender of two consecutive King of the Mountains triumphs, launched his trademark attack. Riding out of the saddle, he found perfect rhythm and swallowed up the seconds, the gravelly tarmac, and soon enough two stunned riders who thought they were well clear. Ultimately, he had enough time to zip up his jersey and approach the summit finish, clapping, waving and blowing kisses to the fans and to the heavens. His rival, Carlos Jesu Velasquez, victor of yesterday’s Stage, still wears polka dot but Lipari is only a few points behind. With three days of a flatter profile, the battle for the King of the Mountains in this year’s Tour de France will resume in the Alps.

<ENDS>

Rubbing her eyes, Cat packs up from the table and goes to transmit her work down the line to London. She arrives at the hotel nearing 11.30.

Too late to talk to Josh.

She goes to her room and slumps into a chair.

Is it really too late to talk to Josh?

She goes and hovers outside his door, pressing her ear against it. There is no sound. She won’t disturb him. It can wait. Tomorrow. Definitely.

Back in her room, curled on the bed, she dials Ben’s mobile phone and stares at the number. Her phone beeps at her. Call? She leaves the phone on the bed and goes to the window. There’s a draught. She’s chilly. The phone beeps again. Call? Cat rummages around her rucksack and retrieves a sweatshirt. She hasn’t yet worn it. It smells of the fabric conditioner she always uses, of being tumble-dried in her local launderette. She inhales, closing her eyes. She can smell home. Now there’s a place! A beep from her phone brings her back to reality. Call? Cat goes to the bathroom and glances briefly at herself in the mirror.

That’s me. I know who I am.

She returns to the bedroom and stares at her phone. It beeps again. Call?

No.

STAGE 11
Tarascon sur Ariège-Le Cap D’Arp. 221 kilometres

Luca Jones had a childhood fascination with prehistory that has never left him. He collected fossils, knew everything about dinosaurs and still loves the idea of cavemen and women. However, that morning, with one Stage left to take him away from the Pyrenees and to the Rest Day, he was not remotely distracted by the fact that Tarascon-sur-Ariège, with its famous local caves, was one of the great centres for its study. Nor had he given much thought to, let alone passed comment on, the fact that they’d be riding through the hottest part of France where bikinis would abound, that the area of coast to which the race was headed was popular with naturists. Luca was anomalously quiet. Yet his spirit was good. He felt very well. His legs were tingling to get going. It was scorching hot but the sun’s rays seemed to be nourishing him deep to the marrow of his bones. He loved his job passionately on days like this.