Читать книгу Ventoux онлайн

33 страница из 86

‘Ludmilla,’ said André. ‘Tolstoy. You’re looking at the genes of War and Peace.’

‘Stop it, André,’ said Ludmilla.

I was speechless. Laura. André had found her again, in Russia, in England, Rotterdam, or God knows where. Perhaps he’d had her copied by a friendly plastic surgeon from his coke customer book.

It was Laura aged 35. She ran her hand through her hair in exactly the same way and had the same look in her eyes, that look halfway between embarrassment and challenge.

Ludmilla said she was popping into town. ‘See you later,’ she said. ‘I assume you’ll be staying for dinner.’

‘That’s right,’ said André, when she had gone. ‘I thought at first that I was having visions. But it was real. Look not and ye shall find. Once you start looking, you lose.’

I got my Pinarello out of the car and put the front wheel on. André was waiting on his Pegoretti, with one leg on the ground. He was wearing a red-and-black jersey of the Amore & Vita team. On the chest was the big M of McDonald’s.

I set the kilometre counter to zero and got on. We had to cross the Maas; we were going to do André’s training circuit, a ‘River Rotte run.’