‘An answer would be good,’ Ben suggested, adoring her gobsmacked face and wanting to cup her cheeks in his hands and kiss her right there, in front of his employer. Cat nodded eagerly, eyes asparkle, and shook Mitch’s hand anew in vigorous gratitude before skipping off to find Alex or Josh, or anyone for that matter, to inform them that she had her own transport today, thank you very much.

The team cars moved off in a hierarchy according to the general classification of riders and Cat had to sit on her hands to stop herself from waving at all the people waving and cheering. Short of riding on a tandem within the peloton, this was as close as she could be to the inner sanctum of the Tour de France.

‘So Cat,’ boomed Mitch, from the back seat, ‘what kind of job is this for a girl?’

‘A dream job. Megapac are my favourite team,’ Cat gushed, wincing at her clumsy effusiveness which Mitch luckily deemed artless and rather touching.

‘Sure is pretty round here,’ Mitch remarked, and Cat momentarily changed her focus from the profile of the route to feast her eyes upon stunning verdant scenery as they journeyed through Switzerland and back into France.

‘You think we’ll have a bunch sprint finish?’ Mitch asked her.

‘Perhaps, unless a break goes clear,’ Cat said, ‘but once we’re into vineyard territory, the lie of the land is pretty rolling and the bunch will be able to move over the little hills much faster than a small break who’d have to be pretty strong to hold them off.’

‘I fancy a good glass of Burgundy tonight,’ mused Mitch, giving his stomach a veritable drum roll of patting, ‘it’s why I chose this part of the race to come over for.’

Cat was too engrossed in Radio Tour to ask which Burgundy – Côte de Beaune or Côte de Nuits – Mitch was intending to enjoy with his boeuf bourgignon. ‘Thirteen riders have gone clear,’ she said, ‘at the 17 k mark – including Hunter and Luca.’

‘Yee hah!’ Mitch sang, making Cat jump. ‘Way to go, boys!’

‘Jesper and Stefano are there too,’ Cat said.

‘Lomers and Sassetta?’ Mitch clarified. ‘I just love this battle of the bands – Viper boys versus Zucca guys.’

‘Luca, 58 seconds,’ the Megapac directeur sportif, driving, spoke to Luca through the two-way radio. ‘Thirteen riders, 58 second lead. No counter-attack as yet.’

The channel crackled and Luca’s response filled the car. ‘’Kay,’ was all he said.

Cat was moved. Somewhere out there, 58 seconds ahead of the bunch, out of sight for the moment, Luca and the breakaway were working hard.

‘We have to follow the break,’ the directeur announced, nipping his car out of the convoy, tooting and revving past the others, heckling and joking with the other directeurs. Cat held her breath as they sped through towards the break.

‘This is great!’ Mitch exclaimed, as if it were a display put on for his benefit. ‘Fucking awesome.’