Directeurs sportifs sat in the bars, mobile phones at the ready. Journalists not at work took the opportunity to launder their backlog of smalls. Mechanics played volleyball on the beach; soigneurs shopped locally for bananas and Vaseline and honey and fabric conditioner for sensitive skin. Cat passed Jules Le Grand, two mobile phones on his brasserie table, a clutch of fans and journalists hovering near by. He tipped his head to one side and proffered his hand which she took and shook whilst he stood and kissed her on both cheeks before taking his seat, answering one phone, having to switch the other to his messaging service. Where was Rachel, Cat wondered? Was Vasily back? Would he and Rachel sneak any time together? She’d phone later. Anything and everything could wait till later. For now, her undivided attention was for Ben.

Initially, she felt a little shy when she saw him, half-wondering whether she should repeat and reaffirm all she told him the night before. Tenderly, he put his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her softly on the lips.

‘Allons?’ she smiled.

‘Not quite,’ he replied. ‘I have to have you – and now. I won’t be able to think straight let alone drive straight and my trousers won’t hang straight, otherwise.’ He led her to his room and made love to her urgently, panting her name as he came, his orgasm precipitated by hearing her call him God and Ben as she climaxed. She felt fantastic to him; tight and hot and extremely wet. It was flattering, immensely arousing, and he was rock hard for her in return. They lay, Ben on his back, Cat on her stomach, Ben grinning at the ceiling, Cat smiling into the pillows, before he gave her buttocks a rap of friendly slaps. ‘Come on, McCabe, we’re going for a little excursion.’

He drove down the coast towards Perpignan where they ate moules and frites, drank cold, innocuous lager and strolled amongst the boats licking ice-cream from cornets. He now knew all about Fen and Pip, the layout of Cat’s flat, Django’s dress sense and culinary proclivities and the quite overwhelming fact that Cat’s mother had run off with a cowboy from Denver when her daughters were very young.

‘I’m not a million miles from Denver,’ Ben said, as they sat on the harbour wall, swinging their legs, ‘you could try and locate her when you come to visit.’ Cat smiled a little bashfully and glanced at Ben. ‘You will come and visit me,’ he stated. She nodded confirmation and then grinned inanely whilst the boats bobbed and Ben stroked her bare knee.

Cat learnt about Ben’s background, about his somewhat burdonsome mother, about his father with whom he didn’t really connect, about Amelia of whom Ben said he rarely thought. Ben didn’t learn much about He Who No Longer Exists because Cat said there wasn’t much to say.

After all, he no longer exists, does he? Certainly he no longer warrants personal pronoun capitalization.