<ENDS>

‘Well done,’ Vasily says casually to Didier though it is obvious he has had to make quite a detour to come by the Megapac vehicles, ‘you rode better than me and the result is fair.’

‘I am happy,’ Didier replies, ‘because I am exhausted.’

‘It’s a good feeling,’ says Vasily, ‘something you can recall to your grandsons.’

‘Indeed,’ says Didier, not too tired to smile.

Ben and Rachel have seen their riders in close proximity but have not heard the exchange. Rachel catches Ben’s eye. Ben nods.

That’s Didier saved, for the time being. But though I’m relieved, I must be constantly vigilant. Drugs are just too damn tempting. When you’re a Tour de France rider, pain alleviation is seductive in any form; legal, banned or even life-threatening.

Ben glances back at Rachel. André is slipping a hand around her waist, planting a fleeting kiss on her neck. It makes Ben yearn for Cat. Ben catches Rachel’s eye but she looks right through him. She feels high, on fire, too preoccupied to acknowledge Ben, to observe that Jules Le Grand has thunder etched across his brow.

STAGE 18
La Chaux de Fonds-Lautrec. 242 kilometres

‘Where is Rachel?’ Stefano Sassetta bellowed in the corridor at an ungodly hour, having found no reply and no entry to his soigneur’s room. His outburst woke many of his Zucca team-mates, but as it was an occurrence with which they were familiar, pillows were placed over heads and dreams for the most part were uninterrupted. Stefano stormed back to his room, looked out of the window to the car park and noted that the team trucks were dark and obviously unoccupied. He phoned Rachel’s mobile phone. To his fury, it was switched off. He left a livid, gabbled message about her round-the-clock duty to him and the importance of his thighs, before rubbing them himself sulkily and then falling asleep.

There you are, Rachel, scurrying back to your hotel under cover of darkness. It’s almost five in the morning, need we ask where you’ve been?

To heaven and back. I can’t wait to tell Cat. Mind you, only Cat – I think I’d die if anyone else found out.

Found out what exactly?

That I’ve been indulging with André to such an extent I fear I must be walking like John Wayne.

Would that swagger be caused by your spirit, then?

That and the fact that my legs have been akimbo for the best part of, well, all night.

Why do you dread others finding out?

Because it took me long enough to land this job and then twice as long, working twice as hard, to earn respect within my field, within this world. I’ve always been exceptionally discreet and steered well away from any attention whatsoever, adverse or otherwise.

If you’re respected and liked, with a squeaky-clean record, might people not be thrilled for you to have found romance?

Romance? Who said anything about slush? I’m talking unadulterated passion here. Like Cat. Mind you, everyone can see that she and Ben are a fine pair, in love and all.