the minibar. He phoned L’Equipe again, making a well-rehearsed soliloquy sound positively conversational; so eloquent that the journalist could quote him word for word.
‘Today, Fabian Ducasse will not be merely going to work, doing his job, earning his salary. For Fabian, this Time Trial will determine his purpose on this mortal coil. He will challenge the demons within himself. He will emerge triumphant.’
Jules ended the call.
If not – then what? he contemplated quietly, bursting a grape against the roof of his mouth. What will it all mean? Who would Ducasse be? What would be the point?
‘He needs me,’ Jules said, leaving his room at 7 a.m. to check on the soigneurs, the mechanics and the weather.
Cat McCabe saw Fabian and Jules on her way to the village. Full of the bounce and confidence that the headiness of new passion can instil, she approached the two men.
‘Bonjour,’ she said, turning back on herself so she could walk their way a while. ‘How are you feeling? What is your optimum time? If you don’t take yellow today, can the Tour still be yours?’
Fleetingly, Fabian looked at her darkly, frowning, turning to his directeur for support, to make her go away. Intrusion. Distraction. Pointless. Jules Le Grand glanced at Cat. He’d seen her around. English journaliste. Any other day, he would have granted her a suave smile, an audience with himself, with his riders. Today, though, at this time, he regarded her with undisguised contempt.
‘Leave Fabian,’ he commanded, his hissed order rooting her to the spot while the men walked away from her and ever onwards towards their fate.
Josh looked up from his laptop.
‘Hullo, Rachel,’ he said in amazement, ‘what brings you here? Fugallo had a great ride. Are you here to watch Vasily?’
‘Actually,’ Rachel said, ‘I was looking for Cat.’
‘She’s interviewing Luca,’ Josh informed her. He glanced at his watch. So did Alex.
‘She’s been bloody hours,’ Alex remarked, ‘little minx.’
‘Is she coming back here?’ Rachel asked, eyeing the unmanned laptop next to Josh.
‘She has her report to file,’ Josh said, glancing at his watch and shaking his head. ‘You bet she’ll be back.’
‘We’re all going out tonight,’ Alex said thoughtfully, distracted from his work by the sight of Rachel’s bottom which he thought very nice indeed, ‘why don’t you come too?’
Rachel swiftly assessed all she had to do, then she nodded. ‘Cool,’ she said, ‘that would be great. Will Cat be there?’
‘Of course,’ Josh said, ‘she’s one of us.’
‘Vasily’s about to start,’ Alex said, twisting his chair to focus on the screens. ‘Watch it here.’
‘Oh God no, I can’t,’ Rachel smiled, shaking her head, ‘I’m far too nervous for him. I’d better go, I’ll see you all later. Tell Cat I stopped by – that I’ll see her later too.’
No one responded and Rachel left a hushed salle de pressé, suddenly loving all the journalists for being so focused on Vasily’s ride.
Why did the sod kiss me? Why am I giving it so much thought? Do I want more? But where the fuck did it come from?
When Luca told Cat that Ben had offered his own hotel room for the interview, Cat had to stop herself from leaping into the air, hugging the rider and saying come on, let’s get it done quickly then.
‘I’m rooming,’ Luca had shrugged. ‘Didier might want to rest. Ben will come back in an hour because then I must rest. But hey! I did well, no?’
‘You,’ Cat had responded, walking alongside Luca down the corridor to the doctor’s room, ‘are a star. It was a great ride – I’d say this is going to be a really fabulous first Tour for you.’
‘You’re a babe, Cat McCabe,’ Luca had said as they entered Ben’s room. ‘Hey! I’m a poet! Let me be your boyfriend,’ he had continued, ‘we can make beautiful babies. Or we can practise anyway.’
‘Work first,’ Ben had cautioned the rider whilst glancing at Cat, ‘play later. No sex during the Tour.’
‘Fuck you,’ Luca had protested.
‘Fuck you,’ Ben had responded, staring at Cat. With a sly smile he had left the room, informing them he would return in an hour. Luca took to Ben’s bed. Cat set her dictaphone on the bedside table and coiled herself into the armchair.
‘So, Luca,’ she had said, ‘let’s talk about you.’
‘Love and sex, Luca?’ Cat asks, glancing at her watch and seeing that the hour is almost up.
‘Sure,’ Luca shrugs, ‘both – sometimes separately, occasionally together. This is off the record, right?’
Cat nods, regards the dictaphone but does not switch it off.
‘I’m a young guy,’ the rider shrugs, ‘and I’m horny. I do a job where you can be superhero to many women. They don’t know you – but they think they do. It’s flattering, you know? If they offer, I’ll take it – but only if I can make it the next day. So, even if there was a chick yesterday with tits out and legs open, I would have refused because the Time Trial was today. Yes? But tonight – tonight is different.’
‘So you’re going on the prowl?’ Cat jests.
‘If I can stay awake,’ Luca responds ruefully, ‘cos you know something? Soon the only humping for me will be going up and down those fucking mountains.’
‘Are you nervous?’
‘That is not a question for me to answer.’
‘Are you?’ Cat asks tenderly, as a friend. Luca regards her. Cat thinks how young he suddenly seems, how his body so lithe and virile in front of her is also one that could be destroyed without notice; a body, a spirit, whose strength is supreme and yet continually on the brink.
‘Are you scared, Luca?’ Cat repeats.
Luca observes her again. She has come to the edge of the bed and laid a hand over his wrist.
He nods, knowing it won’t come out on dictaphone. She strokes his forehead and smiles down on him. He nods again.
Darling boy. Please be careful.
‘Time’s up,’ says Ben. ‘Luca, how’s your pulse?’
‘It’s good,’ the rider replies, unfurling himself from the bed. ‘I’ll go rest and bring it down further.’
‘Thanks, Luca,’ Cat says, her hand on his shoulder.
‘Cat-the-Babe-McCabe,’ says Luca, standing up, suddenly clad in the colourful public persona everybody loves and expects, ‘my pleasure.’ He kisses her three times and then leaves.
‘Was that good?’ Ben asks, going to Cat directly and lifting her T-shirt off.
‘Great,’ Cat replies, unbuttoning his jeans.
‘How long do you have?’ Ben asks, nuzzling his way down from her neck to her right nipple. ‘Because I have about seven inches.’
‘I have to write my report,’ Cat says huskily. She takes his cock in her mouth.
‘Jesus, Cat,’ Ben pants. They gaze glazed at each other. Cat unzips her shorts and lets them fall. Ben cups his hand between her legs and can feel the heat and moistness seep through her panties. He moves his fingers as if he is playing a trumpet and watches as Cat sways with desire. He slips a finger inside the elastic and finds her flesh, burrows in a little and teases her. Her heightened breathing, audible,