‘Nor, I would have thought, would she,’ said Ben.

‘But next week she’ll be in England,’ said Fen, wishing that they weren’t approaching Grenoble, wishing she could stay and keep Cat close, ‘and all this will be some distant Gallic dream.’

‘And I’ll be in Colorado,’ said Ben, amazed that Grenoble had crept up on them so quickly.

‘Exactly,’ said Fen.

‘Exactly, indeed,’ said Ben.

‘I wish you weren’t nice,’ Fen rued, ‘I wish you and my sister had never met.’

‘Charming,’ said Ben with equanimity.

‘Ben,’ Fen sighed, ‘I am warning you – I really am.’

‘Fen,’ said Ben gravely, regarding her, ‘thank you. You don’t have to.’

‘I won’t have her hurt,’ Fen whispered, not wanting to look at Ben, taking her wrist away from his proffered hand, ‘but that’s inescapable.’

Ben was driving very slowly.

And me. I will too. Hurt. Miss her. Like I’ve never experienced.

Tell Fen. Just say it out loud.

No. Not until I’ve told Cat.

Ben is back at his hotel by eleven o’clock. Cat is asleep in his bed. He slips between the sheets quietly and spends a few minutes observing her; moonlight sifting into the room through ill-fitting curtains and whispering silver highlights over her body. Gently, he hovers his hand over her bare shoulder and then lets it rest lightly on her skin. She makes a small noise in her throat and it makes him smile. He strokes her arm with his fingertips and brings his body close to hers. He breathes deeply into the top of her head.

I know that smell. It’s not shampoo. It’s Cat McCabe. She says she knows my hands. Well, I know her scent off by heart.

STAGE 16
Gilbertville-Aix-les-Bains. 149 kilometres

The Tour de France lasts for six more days. In that time, loose ends need to be tied and those currently knotted need to be unravelled. The race is now about loss and gain. Both on the bike. And off. The riders of the peloton have each now lost an average four pounds in muscle which their bodies have resorted to pillaging for energy. Luca lost his nerve but found it again. Fabian has lost his yellow jersey but has designs on gaining it back. Vasily wears the yellow jersey and has no intention of losing it. Jesper Lomers wonders whether his marriage is lost. He leads Stefano Sassetta by just a few points. However, though Jesper defended his jersey ruthlessly in the mountains, Stefano rode strategically. Consequently, the Rotterdam Rocket Viper Boy is tastily clad in green lycra, but Dark Duke Thunder Thighs has ridden without the pressure of defending a jersey and has thus conserved crucial energy. Vasily Jawlensky leads the race with a 2 minute 33 second lead over Fabian Ducasse. Of the 161 riders remaining, the Lantern Rouge of the Tour de France is the twenty-year-old Portuguese rider, José Ribero. He is 3 hours 5 minutes and 18 seconds behind the maillot jaune.