Yes, that’s it. So I’ll let the balm of her honesty soothe me a while. I’m entitled.
‘So,’ says Cat with a shrug, ‘that’s kind of my story in brief. I’d be happy to elaborate. Suffice it to say, I am quite categorically single. I am desperately sorry for the misunderstanding. I rarely lie. And I’m hoping, very much, that we can pick up from where we left off. And run with it.’
She’s exhausted. Ben can see that.
‘And,’ Cat concludes, taking his right hand and scrutinizing it though she knows it off by heart, ‘I know your hands, you see. And I can’t remember those of this other bloke – it’s weird but liberating because it doesn’t bother me. I no longer care. I know yours and I do care.’
Ben is stalled. He finds himself taking her hand flat between both of his. Against what he presumes to be his better judgement, but helpless to do anything about it, he finds he has kissed her knuckles, turning her wrist to kiss the palm of her hand, licking it suddenly.
‘You’re salty.’
Stating the obvious.
Cat nods and says, ‘So is the sea,’ which is a daft thing to say but neither of them reflect upon it.
Ben shakes his head and savours the bewilderment criss-crossing Cat’s face before he alleviates it with his smile. He pulls her against him and finds her mouth.
I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You thrill me and unnerve me and I don’t know what I’m meant to do about any of it.
Tell her, Ben.
It’s probably not a good idea. None of this. But I can’t let common sense allow it to go.
‘I have to go,’ Ben says. ‘Come in with me. Come and join us.’
Cat shakes her head. Her job is done and she desperately needs to rest. And have a bath. And find Josh and confess.
‘Come with me,’ Ben repeats but again Cat shakes her head. Ben does not even bother to check who is around, who is staggering out of the bar or forcing their way in, or who is on the other side of the street, or in earshot, or who might see. He cups Cat’s face in his hand and kisses her, lightly at first and then deeply, his tongue dancing in delight at the taste of her which he has foregone for almost forty-eight hours. ‘Tomorrow’s the Repos,’ he says, eyes alight. ‘What are your plans?’
‘I need to transcribe Luca’s interview,’ Cat says, her eyes still closed, her head tilted upwards presenting lips eager to be kissed again. Ben licks her mouth with the tip of his tongue, swiftly, gently, from corner to corner. Cat is utterly light-headed between her legs.
‘And then?’ he asks.
‘And then, Ben,’ says Cat, looking at him and laying a hand against his chest, another against the bulge in his trousers, ‘I’m all yours.’
‘What was that about?’ Luca asked Ben. ‘Where’s the Babe?’
‘She’s gone,’ Ben shrugged, taking a hearty drink.
‘She OK?’ Luca asked.
‘Hands,’ said Ben with a slow nod, displaying his for emphasis.
Luca, pissed on two bottles of Seize and hyper after too many bottles of Coke, nodded earnestly. ‘All that typing,’ he justified, looking at his own hands, ‘quite a tough job, I would think.’
REPOS
Cat couldn’t believe she was singing ‘Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside’, but she was. She had started to hum it whilst cleaning her teeth and now, sweeping back the hotel curtains and looking out over the navy-blue water, she was singing it with gusto. She needed to call Taverner at the Guardian and Andy at Maillot, she had her Luca interview to transcribe and she planned to have everything wrapped up before lunch-time to warrant the rest of the day alone in Ben’s company.
‘First, I must find Josh. I’m not only going to tell him about He Who No Longer Exists but also about He Who Most Definitely Does. I owe it to Josh, he’s my pal and he cares about me.’
She went along to Josh’s room and knocked on the door. Josh grinned at her. ‘You like it, don’t you?’ he brandished.
‘Yes?’ she answered. ‘Do I? What?’
‘Cat McCabe,’ he smiled and then broke into song most operatically, ‘beside the seaside, beside the sea!’
‘Oh shit,’ Cat declared, hiding her face behind her hands.
‘The walls are paper thin,’ Josh said, casting a glance towards Alex’s room on the other side of his and shaking his head.
‘Was Alex singing too, then?’ Cat asked artlessly. Josh snorted but the explanation came soon enough in the form of a buxom woman opening Alex’s door, stepping out in to the corridor, rearranging her clothing, murmuring, ‘Ciao!’ back into the room and then nodding most courteously to Josh and Cat as she passed.
‘Fletcher!’ Josh cried once he’d closed his jaw, while Cat stood stock still and flabbergasted. ‘Bloody show yourself.’
Alex appeared, with a John Wayne swagger and a Benny Hill grin. ‘I’m shagged!’ he declared. Then he steadied his head with both hands and moaned, ‘I’m also still pissed, I think.’
‘What’s her name?’ Cat whispered.
‘Oh,’ Alex fumbled, waving the air dismissively, ‘Mary, Margaret, Molly – something like that,’ though he knew full well that her name was Maria Angelo because it had taken him most of the previous evening, his entire repertoire of chat-up lines, an exorbitant amount of Pernod and the false promise of Laurent Jalabert’s autograph to lure her back to his room. ‘Come on, I desperately need caffeine. And food. I need to replenish. I’m knackered. Shagged. Fucking hell.’
‘I’m going to the salle de pressé,’ said Cat, looking imploring at Josh who was looking reprovingly at Alex.
‘See you there,’ Josh said, glancing at Cat. ‘I’d better chaperone this jerk all the way.’
‘Oh,’ faltered Cat, ‘OK.’
‘Are you going to transcribe your Luca tape?’ Josh asked.
‘Yes,’ Cat said pensively. She tried to communicate via loaded glances but, whereas Rachel would have read her perfectly, Josh just thought he had shaving cream on his cheek or toothpaste on his lips or sleep dust in his eyes. ‘If you have a mo’,’ Cat said to Josh, realizing Alex was too distracted and hungover to eavesdrop, ‘I wanted to talk – remember?’
‘Oh sure, yes of course,’ said Josh. ‘Later? After breakfast?’
Cat nodded, hoping that a slightly worried twitch of her eyebrows would signify that she wanted to talk in private too.
‘But Luca won the bloody fucking Stage yesterday,’ Cat fulminated in fine salle de pressé style down the phone to Andy at Maillot, ‘and I’ve got an exclusive.’ Andy pointed out that she had interviewed Luca before he was a Tour de France Stage winner. ‘How about a fun little piece on how the riders spend the Repos?’ Cat suggested, undeterred.
‘Who’ve you got?’
‘Um – not a problem.’
‘Sure, but who?’
‘It’s no problem – honestly. Who do you want?’
‘Cat,’ Andy cautioned.
‘Any news on my job?’ she continued, thinking her idea for a Rest Day vignette very good and wondering to whom else she could pitch it.
‘Not as yet,’ said Andy.
Frustrated