‘I think he likes me,’ Cat said. ‘I won’t bother with a bra – my Gap Kids vest is supportive enough. And clingy.’

‘Go girl!’ Fen marvelled. ‘Of course he bloody likes you – why on earth wouldn’t he? Can I tell Pip?’

‘Isn’t that tempting Fate?’

‘Bollocks, Cat,’ Fen laughed, ‘have a little confidence.’

‘I lost it a while back.’

‘No!’ Fen said sternly. ‘It was stolen from you. You’re entitled to its return. Can I tell Pip?’

‘OK!’ Cat laughed. ‘Tell her about his eyes – and that he’s a doctor and all.’

‘Can I tell Django?’

‘Wouldn’t that be bad karma?’ Cat asked. Fen, who felt more for karma than she did for fate, pondered this quietly. ‘Tell you what,’ Cat said, ‘if Sassetta wins the Stage today, you can tell Django.’

‘Better make that the maillot vert, Cat,’ Fen said very seriously. ‘If he scoops up the intermediary sprints and finishes higher than Cipollini, he needn’t win the Stage to claim the jersey.’

Cat smiled. Her sister had caught the bug. There was no cure. It was in her blood. She would never be rid of it.

Where’s Ben? Dr York – ou es tu? And can I ‘tu’ you or ought I to ‘vous’ you? You’re not with the Megapac entourage.

Cat was milling about the teams enclosure with hundreds of other journalists, Tour and team personal.

Oh, there’s Mario Cipollini.

‘Mario! Ça va?’

‘Buon giorno!’ said Cipollini whilst wondering who this girl was who greeted him with such warmth and familiarity. How charming. ‘I’m well – today SuperMario to be LionKing again – compris?’

‘Oh, compris very well, Cipo,’ said Cat, not giving the abbreviation a second’s thought. ‘Bonne chance.’

‘Merci, grazie,’ said the flamboyant Italian before brandishing his best English, ‘thank you so very much, signorina.’

Cat brazenly waved her hand as if to say heck, Mario, don’t mention it. Off she went in search of Dr York, smiling directly at Laurent Dufaux on her way. Jan Svorada, Jose Maria Jimenez, Jacky Durand all raised a hand at a girl they had never met, who was wearing a pair of shorts as flattering as her smile and who gave them salutations of great feeling as she strode past.

Where are you, Dr York? Might you be in the village? I’ll go and check. Bugger off, Alex, I’m on a mission. I’m thirsty. Ah, the Maison du Café stand. I’ll have an espresso, please. Merci beaucoup. Good God – Eddie Merckx – good God himself.

‘Bonjour, Monsieur Merckx.’

‘Eh? Ah oui – bonjour, mademoiselle.’

‘Café?’

‘Pour moi? Merci.’

Don’t mention it. It’s on tap. I can get another. Where are you, Ben? I’ll circumnavigate once. Well, if that’s Luca, his doctor surely must be close to hand.

‘Hey, Luca,’ Cat beamed, ‘how are you? Bloody good ride yesterday.’

‘Thanks, babe,’ said Luca, delighted to see her but wracking his brains for her name and squinting behind his Oakleys to try and read it from her pass.