‘Apart from the riders,’ said Cat.

‘Huh?’ said Josh, looking at his watch and then taking some baguette and brie.

‘The riders,’ Cat repeated, sitting down beside Josh and Alex, ‘they lose weight – they can lose around 4 pounds of muscle alone when the body starts to use it for energy.’

The baguette Josh was about to eat stopped midway to his mouth. Alex had a mouthful of coffee but put the gulp on hold.

‘How many calories a day do the riders consume?’ Josh asked, as if merely interested though Cat could tell she was being tested.

‘Between six and eight thousand,’ she shrugged, ‘60 per cent from complex carbs, 20 per cent from protein and 20 per cent from fat.’

‘Liquid?’ Alex demanded, having swallowed his.

‘Well, on a long Stage, and if it’s hot,’ Cat recited, ‘they need about 12 pints – but you see, the body can only absorb around 800 millilitres an hour, so fluid is always going to be a major concern. That’s why the drinks must be cold and hypertonic – they need to be absorbed quickly and to work efficiently.’

‘Also—’ Alex started but Cat hadn’t finished.

‘All riders fear thirst,’ she said gravely, taking a contemplative sip of Orangina, ‘because if you’re thirsty, it’s basically too late.’

‘Who rode the most Tours?’ Josh enquired, as if he had temporarily forgotten.

‘Joop Zoetemelk,’ Cat reminded him kindly, ‘sixteen in all.’ She regarded Alex, who was obviously musing over some taxing question. She saved him the trouble. ‘Maurice Garin,’ she said, ‘won the first Tour in 1903. Of course, the free wheel wasn’t invented until practically thirty years later,’ she added as an aside.

‘How many hairpin bends on L’Alpe D’Huez?’ Alex asked.

‘Twenty-one,’ replied Cat.

‘Fastest time trial?’ Josh pumped, raising an eyebrow at Alex over Cat’s split-second silence.

‘I reckon that would be Greg LeMond in 1989 – I think he averaged a fraction under 55 kph.’

‘Name the infamous Uzbekistan rider who won the green jersey and was—’

Cat interrupted Josh: ‘and was thrown off the 1997 Tour for testing positive?’

‘Him,’ Josh confirmed.

‘In fact,’ Alex mused, ‘spell him!’

Cat laughed. ‘I’ve named my two goldfish after him. Phonetically speaking, “jam-ollideen abdoo-jap-arov” have to be the most delicious words to roll off the tongue. Ever.’

‘Want a coffee?’ Alex asked, a certain reluctant admiration on his face. She nodded. He went off and brought back just the one, just for Cat. Josh took another chunk of baguette, laid two slithers of brie within it and proffered it to Cat. She accepted graciously.

Respect!

Friday. Zucca MV press conference. 12 p.m.

‘Come on, guys, or you’ll be late. Massimo – where’s Stefano? And where’s Vasily?’ Rachel McEwen was irritated; swinging the keys to the Fiat loaned to Zucca by the Tour de France, around and around her index finger. She had so much to do. Retrieving errant riders was not on her list.

Vasily Jawlensky, last year’s winner of the Tour de France, walked in a leisurely way across the car park. Rachel could never be cross with Vasily as he never intended to upset anyone.