‘That’s because they’re the most recent pair to have been all over you,’ said Ben. ‘Listen hon, I have to go.’

He walked away.

He’s walking away, Cat. Bloody go after him. Forget your speech and just talk honestly with him.

‘Ben!’

He raises a hand but does not turn around or even slow down, as if to say, ‘Please – another time, Cat.’

Cat jogs after him and uses him as a maypole again. He tries to walk on but she gives him a forceful shove and he stops and regards her, irritated.

‘Ben,’ she says, knowing neither what to say next nor where to look. Her eyes are drawn to his. He’s regarding her sternly, as if he’s allocated her a final two minutes before he’s bloody going back to the bar. ‘Ben,’ Cat says, feeling a smile spill across her lips in advance of the liberating truth, ‘there is nobody back home for me.’

Ben says nothing.

Say something, Ben – alleviate her ordeal.

No. I think I ought just to listen.

‘There was someone,’ Cat says quietly, ‘a very significant other – but that was some months ago.’

‘Really,’ says Ben but not as a question.

‘Honestly,’ Cat implores.

‘Why lie?’ Ben asks after a moment’s contemplation. Cat shrugs. ‘Don’t shrug, speak.’

‘Because it felt safe – at the start – before you,’ Cat elaborates. ‘I’m in a minority out here,’ she continues, ‘I’m surrounded by blokes – I had no idea and no intention of falling, I mean fancying anyone.’

Say something, Ben.

Like what?

‘I told Josh,’ Cat continues in earnest, ‘very early on, before I knew him, let alone you.’

‘Why haven’t you told him that it was a lie?’

‘Because we’re on the Tour de France and it’s a race. Every day is a fucking race. To pack and check out. To get to the village, to scrounge quotes, to glean gossip. To rush to the salle de presse. To write the report. File it. Eat at some point. Sneak time with you. Sleep.’

God, she’s almost as gorgeous all in a dither as she was when she was livid with me over Monique.

Well, tell her.

No. This is to savour.

You’re a bastard.

No. But a very quiet, private part of me has been, dare I say it, just a tiny bit – oh God, oh all right – hurt. No, no, not hurt, just disconcerted. Yes, that’s it. So I’ll let the balm of her honesty soothe me a while. I’m entitled.

‘So,’ says Cat with a shrug, ‘that’s kind of my story in brief. I’d be happy to elaborate. Suffice it to say, I am quite categorically single. I am desperately sorry for the misunderstanding. I rarely lie. And I’m hoping, very much, that we can pick up from where we left off. And run with it.’

She’s exhausted. Ben can see that.

‘And,’ Cat concludes, taking his right hand and scrutinizing it though she knows it off by heart, ‘I know your hands, you see. And I can’t remember those of this other bloke – it’s weird but liberating because it doesn’t bother me. I no longer care. I know yours and I do care.’