‘Soigneur,’ Fen corrected, ‘Rachel. Zucca MV. Cat’s at work, remember.’

Pip nodded reluctantly, concentrated on her cake and then brightened up. ‘When are we meeting Josh and Alex?’

‘In half an hour,’ Fen said, ‘at the apartment. Another drink?’

‘Let’s raise a glass to Vasily and Massimo – le maillot jaune and le maillot à pois,’ Pip declared, knocking her drink back in one.

‘And here’s to Fabian and Carlos,’ said Fen, doing the same.

‘We’d better have another,’ said Pip sincerely, ‘we must toast those who bowed out.’

‘And Luca,’ said Fen.

‘I wonder if he’s had a shower,’ said Pip, the sorry sight of the rider urinating over his hands indelibly printed on her memory.

‘Can we talk about anything but cycling?’ Rachel asks Cat, welcoming her in to her room.

‘Of course,’ says Cat. ‘You look ghastly.’ The soigneur has dark circles around her eyes, her hair hangs lank and there is a visible slump to her characteristic energy and poise.

‘I should toast the team,’ Rachel remarks, as if it were a requirement of her job, ‘taking two jerseys from Système Vipère in such fine style.’ She stifles a yawn and lies back on her bed. ‘Well done, Vasily and Massimo. Well done team for just making it today.’

‘I’ll nip down to the bar and bring a couple of drinks up,’ Cat offers sweetly. ‘Beer?’

‘Make it whisky,’ says Rachel, ‘and if it isn’t Scotch, bugger it, I’ll have vodka instead.’

To Rachel’s delight. Cat brings her a large tot of Glenfiddich.

‘When were you last home?’ Cat enquires.

Rachel scrunches her eyes. ‘Far too long ago – I miss it and yet when I return it doesn’t really feel like home. I soon miss the camaraderie, the familiarity of life with the peloton. Anyway,’ she says, taking a hearty glug, her eyes watering at the severity of the liquor, ‘enough about work. Let’s talk about boys.’ Though her eyes are slightly bloodshot, a sly twinkle courses its way through. ‘Let’s get He Who No Longer Exists out of the way first.’

Am I ready for this? Cat wonders.

Yes, you are.

Rachel was so proud of Cat’s level-headed analysis of her failed love that she delved into a bedside cabinet and retrieved an immense block of Cadbury’s chocolate as a reward.

‘Bliss,’ said Cat, filling her mouth and closing her eyes.

‘The One Who Is No More,’ Rachel toasted, ‘well done.’

‘Any developments with Vasily?’ Cat asked.

‘The maillot jaune is the development,’ Rachel defined quietly. ‘Until the race is over, I would think the only thing he’ll desire next to his skin is yellow lycra.’

‘Are you frustrated?’ Cat asked. ‘Hurt?’

Rachel considered this. ‘Frustrated?’ she mused. ‘No. Hurt? No. Confused – very.’

‘Why?’

‘I adore Vasily,’ Rachel defined, ‘but you know something? I don’t think I feel any true chemistry – I think I’ve been searching for it because when a man like Vasily wants to kiss you, you sit up and take notice.’