‘Oh no,’ she said, shaking her head vehemently, ‘no no. Not in a million. No way. Absolutely not.’

The three men nodded very solemnly.

‘Oh, but yes,’ Ben said.

‘Yes way,’ said Josh.

‘Abso-fucking-lutely,’ said Alex.

When Cat attempted to back herself into a corner, the three men and the dress advanced on her.

‘You’re wearing it, Catriona McCabe,’ Ben ordered.

‘I am not, Benjamin York,’ Cat wailed.

‘You are,’ said Josh.

‘Full stop,’ said Alex.

‘I think it’s ridiculous,’ Cat fumed, ‘this pathetic Americanization of the Tour de France. This is a serious sporting event and I think it profane that it should be held at a fun factory.’

‘Oh, get off your high horse and in to your Minnie Mouse costume,’ Ben retorted.

‘It’s all way too commercialized,’ Cat bemoaned, ‘it’s all about profit at the expense of national character. All this Coca-Cola and Disney and Nike swooshes all over the place.’

‘Cat,’ said Josh in a gentle voice so patronizing that Cat gaped at him in horror, ‘lest we forget that the very reason for the birth of the Tour de France in 1903 was for purely commercial ends.’

‘To promote the newspaper L’Auto,’ Alex reminded her sternly.

‘The colour of whose pages became the colour of the leader’s jersey,’ Ben added for good measure.

‘Why me?’ Cat wailed, wondering quietly if the dress would fit and what on earth it would look like and when exactly was the last time she had dressed up. ‘How come you lot get off scot-free?’

In solemn response, the dress was laid carefully on the bed and all three men suddenly stood before her brandishing new ears. Alex became Dumbo, Josh became the Lion King and Ben, predictably, became Mickey Mouse.

‘Change,’ Ben, looking at his watch, commanded Cat.

‘Quickly,’ said Alex, proffering her the dress.

‘We’re running late,’ said Josh, checking his reflection in the mirror.

Suffice it to say, Cat looked ravishing in her polka dot dress with its frou-frou skirt. She felt rather good too and it infused her step with a jaunty spring. She even wore mouse ears. And a smile. And used a length of red cord from her rucksack as laces in her white plimsolls. She gave the boys a twirl. Right there in the foyer of the motel, and was awarded a round of applause and many a wolf whistle.

Every rider in Système Vipère, the only team left in the Tour de France with all nine riders, wore some gimmicky accoutrement or other. Even Fabian Ducasse, ever brooding and aloof, went to sign on wearing a Pinocchio nose, though its comic potential, whilst delighting the crowds, left his sultry demeanour unaltered. The diminutive Carlos Jesu Velasquez, though resplendent in his polka dot jersey, was somewhat swamped by his Goofy baseball cap and whilst the domestiques came as six of the seven dwarves, Jesper Lomers opted merely for Mickey Mouse ears, quite sober in comparison. There was absolutely no way that Jules Le Grand was going to spoil the line or the cloth of his Armani suit with even a badge and his hair was far too perfectly coiffed to permit the presence of plastic ears or a baseball cap. He had made one huge concession to the atmosphere of the day, though nobody would realize. He was wearing socks with his suit. Emblazoned with Pocahontas. Not that anyone knew. It did, however, enliven his comportment and lighten his mien. And when he saw Anya Lomers, walking around the village looking thoroughly out of place so late on in the race, he greeted her warmly and gave her a pair of Mickey Mouse ears.