‘You had a fuck in the truck?’ Massimo exclaimed, wide-eyed and gobsmacked.

‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ Rachel replied. It irritated her to see that Massimo’s primary concern and immediate relief was more that she was not a spy or drink spiker, than he was pleased for her to have found someone she liked.

‘Good,’ he said, ‘I apologize. You great soigneur and lovely lady. Why you not choose a guy from some other team?’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Rachel, now thinking it all so tedious, ‘as if I chose the team before the man. Give me a break.’

‘You are very hard biscuit,’ Massimo said earnestly.

‘A tough cookie,’ Rachel deduced.

Massimo rubbed his newly shaved chin. ‘I fail, Rachel, I am no good,’ he rued, his voice cracking.

Rachel was relieved to have the focus taken away from herself. ‘You didn’t fail,’ she told the rider.

‘I lose my jersey. I lose my dream,’ he sobbed. ‘I lose my beard. Now I live a nightmare.’ Rachel put a supportive arm around his shoulder because there was no way she could massage his ego just then.

‘Oh,’ he wept, ‘I cannot return home. I must exile myself. How could I do this! To the team? To the sport? To my family? To the people of Italy!’

Rachel let the rider sob and rant, accepting it to be a fundamental requirement of her job. She listened attentively and said soothing things that he was incapable of hearing and which would have had little effect anyway. She would have liked to let her mind wander back to André, to how he made her body feel, to relish the excitement and anticipation she felt. But all that panoply would have to wait. She had a job to do. She changed Massimo’s dressings, did a little work on his shoulder, and made him hot milky malty cocoa to take to bed.

STAGE 17
Aix-les-Bains-Neuchâtel. 218.5 kilometres

What on earth are you doing, Ben? It’s just gone two in the morning and you’re creeping along the hotel corridor, listening hard at the doors of your riders. You’re opening the door to Luca and Didier’s room – why are you doing that? See, they’re both sleeping soundly. You can hear them breathing. So go. But you’re hovering and listening attentively – why?

I had to check something.

What?

That if Didier wasn’t dangling himself from a door frame, he was sleeping soundly.

You’re talking about EPO, aren’t you?

Yup, erythropoietin.

The recent drug of choice for cyclists?

Er, the tennis and athletics associations might do well to ferret around their sports too.

Doesn’t EPO simulate the advantages of altitude training on the body?

It’s a hormone produced naturally by the kidneys. Administered, it boosts the red blood cell count and increases the amount of oxygen that can be carried in the blood; as the bloodstream can transport more oxygen around the system, endurance is enhanced and aerobic capacity is increased.

It sounds wonderful.