‘Still, no one speaks to Stefano Sassetta like that,’ Stefano said petulantly, referring back to the directeur’s rebuke.

‘They will if you deserve it,’ Rachel said. She massaged him hard. He stared unflinchingly at the ceiling. ‘Beware,’ she said as she sent him on his way, down to supper, ‘rain is forecast for tomorrow. The roads could be hell.’

Cat sits in her hotel room, ruminating on her day.

Three elements have made her Stage I not such a good one. Disappointment. Bewilderment. Trepidation. She had not considered having to confront such emotions, not on the Tour de France. She’d only anticipated tiredness, stress and irritability at some point surely much later in the race.

I need to consider these new three before I’m allowed to go to sleep.

Start with Disappointment.

I did not see one wheel turn of cycling today – not live. We drove directly to Rouen, missing the route altogether. The itinéraire direct was 46 k. We did it in forty-five minutes. The boys did 195 k in just over four and a half hours.

Couldn’t you have suggested to Josh that you drove the route ahead of the race?

I did. He frowned and laughed. It was embarrassing.

Number two, Bewilderment?

I miss the ice rink. I miss little Delaunay Le Beau. I knew it well – five days there. The salle de pressé in Rouen is this 1950s clump of glass and concrete – civic and austere. Josh and Alex.

That’s not a sentence.

Didn’t save me a place.

Oh. But on purpose?

I mean – I only nipped to the loo. This hefty German journo pushed by me. He dumped his stuff by Alex.

So they had saved a place for you.

But they didn’t defend it. They just shrugged. I had to set up in the smaller press room. The only cycling I saw was one step removed, via the press TVs.

Cat, can you hear yourself?

I know. I’m feeble. In the finish-line scrum, I was just plain flimsy.

Is that number three, Trepidation?

Absolutely. An all English-speaking result – not only did I not get a word in or out, I didn’t even manage to get close to any of them. I stood on tiptoes near the swarm around Hincapie but learnt my lesson when some Bavarian brute sent me flying. Then I tried for O’Grady, but a wall of men was formed around him, not even a chink to wriggle my arm and dictaphone through. Alex had just left the Jay Sweet mêlée and looked straight through me. Seeing Josh having to barge for a soundbite from Travis Stanton decided me not to even attempt to approach. So then I wandered off and came across the lacerated Luca.

How can you be glum about that?

Because I was pretty shaken and didn’t come across as I wished I had. As I’d envisaged I’d be.

Good quote, though.

I suppose.

And a smile from Luca and his doctor.

I suppose. He’s strange, that bloke, Ben. I find him a bit unnerving.