The McCabe Girls Complete Collection: Cat, Fen, Pip, Home Truths. Freya North

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СКАЧАТЬ and Verdonk make their way through the convoy of team cars, past a posse of riders at the back, up and through a string of stragglers hanging like a tail to the back of the main bunch. Système Vipère are back in the race. Ducasse has lost no time at all; moreover he has gained publicity, popularity and respect. People will want to watch for him tomorrow, every day, a force to be reckoned with; they’ll be looking out for him, wishing him success. Hero.

      The cameras pan back. The other rider is still on the tarmac, sitting up, hunched, head in hands. The woman from San Diego finally presses the shutter on her camera.

      ‘I got Bobby J!’ she says delighted to her husband. ‘That’s cool – I got Bobby J!’

      In more ways than one.

      Bobby Julich tries to stand. He manages it but he cannot walk. He is out of the race. His Tour stops here, but not his reputation. A battle-broken body leaves his heroism intact. There’s next year.

      On the other side of the road, the cameras focus momentarily on two figures. One is an old farmer standing very still, clasping his cloth cap to his heart. The other is a young boy standing by his small, basic bike, holding on to the handlebars hard. His mouth is open, his eyes are huge. When I grow up, I will cycle the Tour de France. I will be that brave. I will be a hero.

      It was just one more crash in the Tour de France but for Cat, the image of Ducasse fallen and then up and away, of Julich down and then stretchered away, lay resonant in her mind’s eye constantly. If the Stage had been as exciting, as traumatic, as exhausting for a mere journalist to experience, how can it have been for the riders? The atmosphere in the salle de pressé was thick and intense. It was also too hot, and somewhat odoriferous. Too many men with a dwindling awareness of personal hygiene, a slackening interest in the merits of laundry, an increasing appetite for nicotine and, Cat detected, for garlic sausages.

      ‘I need some air,’ she told Alex and Josh, ‘coming?’

      ‘Bring us a Coke, will you?’ Alex asked.

      ‘Just Evian for me,’ said Josh, eyeing up the line of empty cans in front of him.

      It was still incredibly hot. Inland now, and with very little breeze, the peloton were currently racing in 30 degrees. Having been seated herself for almost three hours, Cat was stiff and sticky. Walking slowly amongst the trees, she chose a sturdy old trunk to lean her hands against, stretching out first her right leg then her left behind her. Then she picked up each foot in turn to hold against her bottom, giving the fronts of her thighs a good stretch. She put her hands on her hips and rolled her head very slowly about her neck. She reached up high above her head with arms extended, relishing the feeling of release from the pull on her waist. She swooped her arms down in an arc, holding them out horizontally at shoulder height before clasping them behind her back and pulling upwards. She held her pose and breathed deeply, her eyes closed.

      ‘Fantastic tits, Catriona McCabe,’ said Ben York desirously, feeling the objects of his adulation gently and swiftly before Cat could open her eyes in amazement. She grabbed her breasts protectively, glanced around aghast for fear of witnesses, and had no idea how to respond.

      ‘Cat,’ she corrected, indignantly.

      Ben held her face and kissed her lips, flicking his tongue tip over them before standing back and grinning at her broadly.

      ‘Ready to play?’ Ben asked. Cat shook her head solemnly. Ben regarded his watch and then raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d timetabled you in,’ he said, ‘my only free slot, young girl.’

      ‘I haven’t finished my work yet,’ Cat apologized, ‘old boy.’

      ‘Fresh air and a banana,’ Ben proclaimed, ‘brain food – mark my words.’

      ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor?’ Cat cajoled. Ben acquiesced with a tilt of his head. ‘Well, here’s the fresh air,’ Cat continued, ‘and I’ll grab a banana from the buffet. Promise.’

      ‘Let’s go and sit somewhere,’ Ben suggested, his hand lightly at the small of Cat’s back, guiding her through the park, down a deserted narrow side-street and to a small tabac on the corner with just two tables outside.

      ‘How much caffeine have you had today?’ Ben asked. Subconsciously, Cat pulled her bottom lip through her top teeth as she thought. When it sprung out, Ben’s mouth was there. He bit her bottom lip and then sucked it quickly. His eyes open, observing that hers were closed. Cat had to sit down.

      ‘Five,’ she said at length.

      ‘Five?’ Ben asked. ‘Out of five? Out of ten – are you grading my osculation?’

      ‘Coffees,’ Cat explained, licking her lips to lap up the taste of him.

       Your kissing is way off any scale I know.

      ‘You’re on the Tour de France,’ Ben said gravely, ‘you’re over the caffeine limit.’ He ordered two citron pressés. ‘Had a good day?’ he asked.

      ‘No,’ said Cat forlornly, ‘poor Fabian, poor Bobby.’

      ‘But you,’ Ben stressed, ‘how’s your day been, journaliste McCabe?’

      ‘Not so good, Ben, not so good.’ Cat explained to him the uncertainties at Maillot in great detail. ‘I’m brimming with ideas and overflowing with passion.’ Ben raised his eyebrows in delight. ‘Seriously,’ Cat implored, punching him gently, jolting his glass and causing a dribble of citron pressé to course down his chin. She took her forefinger to it, ran it up to his lips and let him suck it. ‘I’d justified following the entire Tour as having supreme purpose: a dream job at the end of it. Now that is uncertain, being here feels like an indulgence. I’m barely covering my costs.’

      ‘Don’t go home,’ Ben said seriously. Cat’s look of utter distaste at the thought brought the doctor instant relief. ‘There are so many people here,’ he continued, ‘something’ll come up.’

      ‘Would Luca mind me interviewing him after the Time Trial?’ Cat asked. ‘Even if I can’t guarantee a publication date?’

      ‘Luca,’ Ben proclaimed, ‘would be delighted. Where are you staying tonight?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Cat said. ‘Josh knows all that stuff. I just take my rucksack from his car to a different but basically interchangeable room each night.’

      ‘Well, I’m staying at the Ibis. Room 324. Finish your work, feed and bathe and revive yourself and then come to me. I’m going to have another pressé,’ said Ben.

      ‘I’d better have that banana,’ said Cat, feeling a little giddy. She rose and thanked Ben, leaning down to kiss his cheek and then taking her lips to his and giving him a hint of the tongue she intended to use to great effect in room 324 of the Hôtel Ibis later. He gazed after her as she walked away.

       She looks quite lovely in shorts. And how I’d love to run my finger tips ever so lightly over the imprint the woven plastic chair has left on the backs of her thighs.

      Ben looked at his watch. There was just time to enjoy his pressé before he went in search of Didier LeDucq’s soigneur to discuss the rider’s health.

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