Looking out through the curtains, Ben saw clear skies and a breeze that gave the impression that the trees were breathing gently. He dressed in shorts, slipped bare feet into docksiders, wrapped a sweatshirt around his waist and headed out for the village.

I’ll breakfast there. The company is usually good.

‘Hey, Alex.’

‘Morning, Josh.’

At a rickety table in the breakfast-room of their hotel, which was really a glorified pension without the nice personal touches, the men rubbed bleary eyes and bemoaned the stream of beer which had found its flow down their gullets the previous night.

‘Have you seen Cat?’ Josh asked, picking up a croissant, scrutinizing it from various angles, before forsaking it in favour of a second cup of black coffee. Alex, who had a mouth full of croissant and lips coated with crumbs, shook his head.

‘Nah – not since she left the salle de pressé yesterday.’

‘Talking of the devil,’ Josh said, ‘morning, Cat.’

‘Morning,’ said Cat.

‘Have some breakfast,’ Alex said, offering her a croissant in his fingers and munching on it himself when she refused.

‘Coffee?’ Josh offered, pouring himself a third cup when she declined.

‘I’ll see you at the village,’ Cat said. ‘Are we going avant or arrière?’

‘Who’s driving?’ Josh asked.

‘I’m probably still over the limit,’ Alex said with a certain pride. Josh looked beseechingly at Cat.

‘I don’t mind,’ Cat said, ‘the route is pretty straightforward – shall we follow it?’

‘Avant!’ Alex proclaimed, like an army general.

‘Can you load my stuff if I leave it in reception? I’m going to stroll over now,’ said Cat, ‘we’ll meet by the Maison du Café stand at the second bell.’

‘Sure,’ said Josh.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Alex, saluting and burping simultaneously.

‘Is she all right?’ Josh asks Alex, glancing at Cat disappearing from view, thinking how this morning she looks somewhat deflated.

‘Huh?’ Alex responds, turning to scour the space she has left.

‘She’s all right,’ Josh declares.

‘Then why are you asking?’ Alex retorts.

‘I mean,’ Josh says, ‘I was sceptical initially but actually I rate her – her writing’s good and her knowledge is sound.’

‘I must admit,’ Alex nods, drinking the juice set for Cat, ‘I agree. She’s one of us – but with great tits. Which is refreshing.’

‘God, you’re a twat,’ Josh laughs.

‘Street cred for us in the salle de pressé,’ Alex shrugs. ‘I’ve seen the L’Equipe hacks regard us approvingly.’

‘We must remember that this is her first Tour,’ Josh reasons, ‘and that she’s a girl.’

Alex winces and tuts theatrically. ‘You sexist sod, you!’

Josh is serious. ‘Fuck off. She is one of us but she is not one of us. I mean – she is a girl. And she is a novice. We must remember that and we should respect it. But don’t you think she seems a bit – I don’t know how you’d call the condition – quiet?’

‘Maybe,’ says Alex, reaching for the remainder of Josh’s croissant.