‘Gatto!’

Cat turned, wondering who was crying for cake. Luca walked towards her.

‘I’m calling you Gatto,’ he declared, kissing her somewhat startled cheeks once apiece. ‘I’m basically bilingual but Gatto is Italian for cat.’

‘Oh,’ Cat nodded, her eyes caught by the tan line on the rider’s arm, revealed by his jersey sleeve being a little bunched up. Seeing the glimpse of pale skin created similar maternal affection in her as witnessing the riders tottering in their cycling shoes.

I want to straighten his sleeve for him.

Go on then, no doubt he’d love you to.

Don’t be ridiculous.

‘I like pussy,’ Luca said, regarding her directly. Cat jolted and any feelings of maternal affection were swiftly replaced by consternation. She tipped her head to one side, hoping she was regarding the rider in a suitably stern way.

‘Is that a quote for me?’ she asked, matter of fact and tongue in cheek.

‘I mean,’ Luca said ingenuously, frowning for good measure, ‘I like “pussy” – but “gatto” is better. Italian is a beautiful language. Italian is really my mama tongue. I just speak English also.’

‘You could just call me Cat,’ the journalist suggested, ‘it’s simple English.’

‘No no no,’ the rider said emphatically, ‘I want a special name for you.’ Luca narrowed his eyes, straightened his shoulders and poked Cat gently in the stomach. ‘Last night, how come you didn’t want me?’

Cat clasped her hand against her mouth. The gesture was immediate and honest. She had indeed completely forgotten, having wrapped herself in her insecurity blanket just as soon as she’d reached her room. Luca grinned outwardly, felt appeased inwardly and was suddenly keen to find Hunter, to restore the American’s belief in Luca’s irresistibility.

‘I was knackered,’ Cat said apologetically whilst reprimanding herself. Unprofessional. Stupid. A wasted opportunity.

‘You were shagged,’ Luca elaborated very seriously. Again Cat jolted. Luca was a little alarmed. ‘It’s a good English expression – very, very tired. Right? Poor pussy Cat,’ he continued, ‘let me give it to you later. I want to.’

‘What?’ the journalist exclaimed quietly, her eyes skittering all over the rider’s face.

‘You come and see me – we’ll have a good long one,’ Luca shrugged, wondering why Cat continued to look less than ecstatic.

‘Pardon?’

‘We’ll go somewhere quiet,’ Luca said openly, ‘and I’ll give it to you there. You staying in Chardin tonight? I don’t know where the fuck the team are staying. You find me. You call me. We’ll take it from there.’

Cat stood and stared at the rider.

‘You want it – don’t you?’ he asked.

Though she was listening hard, Cat could not hear any lascivious undertone lacing what appeared to be genuine concern.

‘Come after dinner,’ Luca said, ‘I do it better on a full stomach. Ciao, Gatto.’ He walked away from her, turning his attention to Didier’s whereabouts.

Alex walked up to Josh, who was talking to Ben and Didier at the Coeur de Lion marquee in the village. Didier ambled a few strides away to his bike and cycled off slowly, through the village and back to the team van, via an undisclosed visit to the toilets. Josh had got to the rider before Ben had and now the rider had left before Ben had him alone.