‘Ben,’ said Cat contemplatively as they drove back mid-afternoon. She looked at his cheek and placed the back of her hand softly against it.

‘Yep?’ he replied, his eyes leaving the road momentarily, alighting on Cat’s for a second yet scorching her to the core instantly.

‘Who did you think I was?’

He glanced at her again; she was gazing out of the window. ‘I mean, when you thought I had a bloke already. You must have thought me something of a slapper, right?’

Ben did not reply.

‘A sure shag,’ Cat pressed, ‘pussy that puts out – right?’

‘Wrong,’ said Ben thoughtfully, doing much mirror-checking. Cat looked at him but he did not take his eyes from the road. ‘I was disappointed,’ he said, a few kilometres later, ‘– not in you so much, but in the situation. However, believing you had a boyfriend actually didn’t make me want you any less. It didn’t make me want you any more either – because I was at my pinnacle of desire anyway.’ He glanced at himself in the rear-view mirror, called himself a soft bastard but was unable to do anything about his grin.

‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ said Cat, firmly but quietly, seeing from the wing mirror that the blush she felt within had manifested itself in virulent scarlet across her cheeks.

‘No,’ Ben said, ‘you only have me. And I don’t have a girlfriend.’

‘No,’ said Cat, ‘just me. And this is the Tour de France.’

‘The Tour de France,’ said Ben, ‘and it’s over half-way through.’

Something quite ghastly is going to befall Cat on a day hitherto as close to perfection as she’s ever known. She feels simultaneously peaceful and utterly exhilarated, as only being on the brink of falling headlong in love with someone can instil. Perhaps she shouldn’t fall in love with Ben, not if she’s sensible and considers that the Tour is over half-way through and her beau lives in Boulder. But how can you decide not to fall in love with someone? Especially if you’ve already been treated to a glimpse of the potential that such a state could provide. It would be pointless. It would be impossible.

However, Cat’s euphoric state is going to be shattered, her world is going to go haywire and her confidence is going to collapse. Worst of all, she will soon doubt her standing as a respected member of the Tour de France family. I have no idea how she’ll cope or how she’ll recover or why this has to happen to her. She deserves an easy ride, after all, doesn’t she?

It’s a beautiful day. She wants to go for a swim in the sea later. With Ben. Have a long, boozy supper, with Ben, perhaps with Rachel and the others too. Sleep with Ben tonight and wake up in the same bed as him tomorrow. She could even stroll through the village départ hand in hand with him. First, though, she has to go to the salle de pressé. She is ready and eager to confess to Josh, to hug him and thank him and apologize for the fact that she spun him a yarn she should have unknotted days ago. So she’s going to the salle de pressé, a spring in her step, a head-turning smile on her lips and in her eyes, energy and well-being instilled in her every move. I’m sorry. Poor Cat.