‘They are?’ Travis probes, inquisitiveness keeping him in the bar though he’s glanced at his watch and thinks that, at half past nine and after half a bottle of beer, he really should be leaving so he can get eight hours’ sleep. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Well,’ says Ben contemplatively, ‘they don’t know what they want more – to mother him or fuck him.’

‘Je-sus!’ Hunter exclaims. ‘He’s a fucking bike rider.’

‘Exactly,’ says Ben, ‘they can’t decide whether they’d rather run their fingers through those soft, Botticelli curls or grab hold of his buttocks and drive their nails right in.’

‘Go, Luca!’ Travis jockeys, ordering another beer and thinking what the hell.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Hunter agrees with admiration.

Luca extricates himself from the tangle of women and saunters over to his team-mates and doctor. ‘You guys, you talking about me, hey? What you saying?’

Bottles chink.

‘You’re a chick magnet,’ Hunter congratulates him so solemnly that it should be impossible to take seriously.

‘Cheers!’ Luca responds ingenuously. ‘Here’s to France and the belle femmes.’

‘Coming hot on the heels of the Giro and all those belle signorine,’ counters Ben.

‘Ah, the Giro,’ Luca says wistfully, as if it were something he’d done as a young man. ‘All those pretty babes in denim shorts and bikini tops, waving and calling your name from the roadside, coming to you at the village départs wanting an autograph—’

‘And being rewarded with your double kiss,’ Travis adds.

‘Gawping, in hot-flushed awe, as your legs were rubbed,’ Ben remembers.

‘All our legs are rubbed at the finish,’ Luca remonstrates.

‘Yes,’ Ben says, ‘but the rest don’t spread their limbs quite so wide while maintaining unflinching eye-contact and suggestive smiles with young ladies.’

‘I’m a young man, man,’ Luca shrugs, ‘and strong. I’m a bloke. The crowds, the passion, the girls – vive le Tour.’

‘OK guys,’ says Hunter, suddenly horny from the beer, the conversation, the freedom of the evening and the realization that he won’t see his fiancée again for nearly a month, ‘I’m out of here.’

‘Me too,’ says Travis. ‘All set?’

Ben nods approvingly and raises his eyebrows at Luca. ‘You should do the same.’ Luca looks petulantly over to the posse of pussy whose eyes have not once left him. He regards Ben and then nods.

‘I’m going to have a great Tour, hey doc?’ Ben places a supportive hand on his shoulder in response. ‘I’m going to make the sponsors proud and they’ll sign me for next year – with a raise, perhaps elevate my status in the team.’

Ben steers him through the bar and out into the night. The mountains lumber and slumber in dark mauve velvet masses against a sky smattered with an inordinate array of stars.

‘And my Mama and Dad – make ’em proud too,’ Luca continues. They stroll to their bikes. ‘Podium girls,’ Luca says, swinging his leg and freewheeling away. Ben catches him and they pedal slowly back to the apartments, the lethargic pace caused as much by their intent conversation as from a little alcohol.