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.
‘He says he feels strong,’ Josh said, looking at his notepad. He looked at Ben. ‘He looks like shit.’
‘Who are we talking about?’ said Alex, now joining them.
‘LeDucq,’ said Josh.
‘He always looks crap,’ Alex said, laughing, ‘he should get rid of his stupid pony-tail. I’m going over to catch Max.’ Ben and Josh watched Alex join a small posse of journalists surrounding the ever popular Max Sciandri. Neither of them could see Cat amongst them. They turned their attention back to each other and the absent LeDucq.
‘I’m his doctor,’ said Ben, remembering he was talking to a journalist. ‘He’s fine – if he isn’t, I’ll know about it. That’s my job.’
‘It’s going to be hot today, I reckon,’ said Josh, still thinking LeDucq looked awful. Ben nodded. The men looked at the sky and noted the very few, high clouds that were there.
‘It’s bizarre, isn’t it?’ the doctor said. ‘Talking about the weather is never idle chit chat here at the Tour.’
Josh laughed and nodded. A bell rang. The VIPs started to gather together, leaving the village to be transported along the route to hospitality at the arrivée, wined and dined with elaborate packed lunches on the way in cars invariably driven by ex-Tour racers.
‘I think we’re staying at the same hotel tonight,’ Josh said.
‘Great,’ said Ben, ‘maybe we’ll have a few beers later.’
‘Providing Sassetta behaves,’ Josh reasoned. ‘Zucca are staying there too.’
‘There’s your colleague,’ Ben said, nodding towards Cat who had just appeared in the village, making her way straight to a booth and taking a long drink of juice. ‘Is she staying with you?’
‘Cat?’ Josh replied, glancing in her direction. ‘Yeah, she is, all the way. I didn’t know her before – shit, I’ve actually only known her a week. But she’s OK, she really is.’
‘Yes, she is. Her work’s good too,’ said Ben, flashing the Guardian as emphasis.
‘Yup,’ said Josh, ‘it’s great to have her on board.’
‘Makes a change,’ Ben said, his eyes not having left her.
‘Doesn’t it just?’ Josh agreed. They regarded her as she meandered from one stand to the next. She was wearing a short denim skirt and white pumps, a T-shirt and a Nike baseball cap. She looked preoccupied. Ben fixed his gaze on her face to no avail. Josh raised a hand in a futile wave. A few stands on, she caught sight of the two men. She stood stock still momentarily before turning on her heels, leafing with urgency through her notepad and walking with huge purpose out of the village.
Neither Ben nor Josh knew she’d gone directly to hide behind a tree, feeling knotted. Ben presumed she was gleaning gems from Luca. Josh assumed she was just going about her job.
‘Catch you later,’ said Ben, catching sight of Didier sitting with Travis, both with cups of coffee. Travis sipped his with his little finger extended genteelly; Didier just raised his cup, contemplated its contents and then replaced it. Ben was alarmed. Few riders forsake their legal caffeine entitlement.
‘Yes, this evening,’ said Josh, suddenly feeling the impact of the vast amount of restorative breakfast caffeine and thinking he really ought to piss before they set off, ‘we’ll have a few beers.’
‘Hey, Cat,’ says Rachel, the boot of the car open to reveal a veritable booty of clothing, bidons, food, and first-aid accoutrements. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’
‘Sorry?’ Cat asks. ‘For what?’
‘I was so stressed out I might have to borrow back the pencil sharpener,’ Rachel says, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Stefano is – well, he drives me mad, let me tell you!’
‘Do tell me,’ Cat implores.
‘Yeah, right,’ Rachel laughs, ‘but as a mate, as a fellow female – not as a journaliste.’
Cat holds her hand to her heart. Rachel beckons her closer until both women are leaning deep into the car. ‘When he won the Stage yesterday? He said to me – and excuse my accent – Where is Lomers? I want give him these flowers – I want say him “Hey Lomers – give these for your wife because she think you no love her because you no fuck her no more”.’
The women regard