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She looked away from the screen and was momentarily staggered, soon relieved, as she realized her hot flush and racing heart were pointless. No one met her gaze, no one laughed at her work, everyone was utterly preoccupied with all things other than Cat McCabe, journaliste. Cat allowed herself a smile, looked at her screen and thought, well – it could be Finnish, deleted the lot and started to transcribe Hunter’s soundbites. Her typing speed matched the pace of his voice perfectly.

Now I’m going to sketch out a piece for the Guardian focusing on the non-European element of the Tour de France – mention Luca Jones and whether winning a Stage in the Giro D’Italia can translate to winning one at the Tour de France.

‘Hullo.’

I might do an ‘introducing Megapac’ – use my Hunter quotes, bring the riders of this wildcard team to the public’s notice.

‘Bonjour?’

In fact, it would be interesting to do a piece as an exposé of the cliques in the peloton according to nationality or language.

‘Buenos dias?’

There’s often inter-team friction, or factions, due to language – how does that change within the peloton at large?

‘Buon giorno? Guten Morgen? Hola!’

Cat looked up with a jolt.

‘Bonjour,’ she mumbled, wondering if she’d been talking her ideas out loud. She glanced at the man and was able to assess immediately that he appeared, physically at least, non-intimidating and relatively normal. For a start, he was wearing khaki shorts of decent dimensions and had a pen rather than a cigarette between his fingers.

The man flicked over a page of his notebook, squinted and then spoke.

‘Cat-riona McCabe?’ he asked. ‘Guardian?’

And he’s British.

‘Yes,’ Cat beamed, standing up and shaking his hand.

‘I’m Josh Piper,’ he said, extending his hand.

‘Oh – Josh-ua!’ Cat proclaimed, with a familiarity and joviality that made her cringe because they far exceeded the mere expression of recognition and relief she’d actually intended. ‘You’re English and you’re Joshua.’ She shook his hand anew.

‘Er, yes,’ he said, regarding her quizzically, ‘but please – it’s Josh and I’m relieved you’re Catriona McCabe – I’ve been standing here for ten hours saying hello in every language I know and some I probably don’t. You were miles away – where were you? Half-way up L’Alpe D’Huez already?’

Cat gave a guilty grin. ‘Not quite, but I was preoccupied. I’m sorry.’ To emphasize the point, she sat down again and stared concertedly at her screen.

Noticing that she still had her earpiece in place and that the dictaphone appeared still to be whirring and that her fingers were over the keys, Josh put his hands up in surrender.

‘You’re going to share the driving with us – right?’ His hands were now on his hips, as if it aided him in assessing her potential behind the wheel.