‘Alex, fuck off,’ Josh said, shaking his head, catching Alex’s glance in the rear-view mirror and giving him a loaded look. Cat removed her sunglasses, righted her cap and looked at both men, assuring them she was fine, just tired.

Bloody boys. Males. The lot of them.

She only swerved twice. First when Alex enquired, innocently enough, after what Luca had had to say that morning – all of which Cat was still trying to remember word for word, the intention in particular. Then she swerved again, with equal severity, when Josh remarked that both Zucca MV and Megapac were staying at their hotel.

‘Ben said to meet in the bar for a drink,’ Josh said.

‘Ben?’ Cat said.

Bloody Ben.

‘Yeah, you know, the Megapac doc,’ Alex said rather slyly, leaning forward between the two front seats and grinning at Cat.

‘I was talking to him at the village,’ Josh said. ‘We saw you and tried to call you over but you were on a mission.’

On a mission not to be seen by him. What did he say? Did he mention podium girls? What did you say? Did you mention my fake bloody boyfriend?

‘He asked after you,’ Josh continued.

‘Oh?’ said Cat, eyes on the road but mind far from it. ‘What about?’

I don’t want to know. I do want to know. What did he want to know? That I have a boyfriend? Please say you didn’t say so. Because I don’t. Oh, but what does it matter – Ben’s hardly interested anyway.

‘This and that,’ said Josh casually, ‘where you fit in – he’d read your report of yesterday.’

‘Oh,’ said Cat.

Mine? He searched it out and read it? What should I read into that? Shut up, idiot girl.

‘Anyway – he suggested beers tonight,’ Josh continued.

He did? With whom? All of us? Just me? Or minus me?

‘I’m having a beer with Rachel,’ Cat said, almost as a safeguard.

How on earth am I going to concentrate on the race, let alone write the report, with the distraction the impending evening poses?

COPY FOR P. TAVERNER @ GUARDIAN SPORTS DESK FROM CATRIONA McCABE IN CHARDIN

After just over sixteen hours of racing, with just under seven minutes between the maillot jaune of the leader and the Lantern Rouge of the 184th rider, the Tour de France left Brittany today for the Vendée with a 248 km road race from Plouay to Chardin. For 96 km, while the landscape masqueraded as Cornwall, a 30 kph north-westerly wind gave the peloton a helping hand, propelling the bunch forward together and providing light relief from a sticky 29 degrees. However, as the riders crossed over the mouth of the Loire via the stunning Pont du Saint Nazaire, no doubt they would have preferred high humidity to the sly crosswinds which slicked about the bridge, disturbing the bunch.

‘I’m stuck,’ Cat sighed, observing with envy that both Josh and Alex were not. ‘I’m going out for a breather,’ she said, disappointed that her colleagues were not just staying put but far too preoccupied to have even heard her.