I

Sitting in a quiet bar, just off Place de Clichy, along with Franck Blanchard, four journalists, and a couple of photographers, Tanner was well prepared for the inevitable question.

“Well the boys are not in much state to speak to you, even if they wanted to, but to be honest, they don't. There is nothing to say, except listen to the music, it's all there, if you listen close”

“But it's not normal for a band not to give interviews”

“This band has never given an interview, except once, privately, to Monsieur Blanchard here, and that was concerning their origins. If you want to know about that, then I suggest you read his book........I believe it's rather good” Blanchard smiled at the mention of his new, iconic status.

Tanner felt good too. He knew he could afford to be arrogant. The reaction to the band, so far, had been nothing short of overwhelming. The press couldn't ignore it now, but in an almost placatory gesture, Tanner then went on to say, how much he and the band were enjoying their reception in France, and especially, how they were looking forward to playing alongside some of rock's elite at the forthcoming Chateau de Bonnefontaine festival.

“...and is there some news we can report about a new record ?”

“It's up to Marrat to decide. He's not said anything to me, but personally I think maybe he's waiting to see the reaction to the current record.......after all, it's taken twenty five years for it to be finally heard by a wider audience. If the message is taken on board, then perhaps, he may have something else to say.”

This statement threw them. Normally bands were only too pleased to discuss future projects, and yet here he was, suggesting that there may be nothing more. What kind of band was this?

“You have to remember. This band always was, and is, truly unique. Don't expect the obvious. Thank you gentlemen....I trust we'll see you all in Brittany” and with that, Tanner got up, flicked some imaginary dust of his immaculate suit, paused for a couple of photos, then walked out into the late, Parisian morning.

Tanner, of course, was bluffing, and courtesy of a strange twist of fate, he was able to manipulate Marrat's original unwillingness to talk, into a cover with which to hide his English imposter. The idea of a returning messiah, uninterested in commercial gain, struck Tanner as preposterous, as he recalled last night, and Renard's lascivious bar top crooning. The world would believe what it wanted to, nothing changed. He thought of various celebrity lives, which rarely mirrored their on stage persona, and concluded that, it was just show business after all, and nothing else. 

He went back to the hotel, checked out, and went and waited in the bistro to be picked up. Cecile had left earlier, and his life had changed in a profound way. His weekend had melted into one delicious mash of emotional liberation, passion and sex, glorious sex. It was a reawakening for sure, better than any drug. In his dealings earlier with the press, he'd surprised himself with his newly enhanced confidence. It was as if he'd found another gear, and it felt great.

The tour bus squeezed up the tiny street, and stopped outside The Eldorado. Tanner hopped up inside, grateful, but not entirely surprised, that a full compliment of occupants were aboard. Nobody looked too worse for wear, except maybe Ren, who sported an enormous pair of black shades.

“Jackie Onassis on vocals tonight, Tan” Laughter. Tanner took his seat, and they set off for Lille.

II

Though life for the Riders, and Tanner was looking up, events in Brittany had become depressingly complicated. Nixon looked at the scruffy, red canvas bag slung in the corner of Gil's studio. It was full of dead leads and mike cables, presumably awaiting repair, on some far off day. He pulled at one loose end hanging over side, and sure enough, the whole tangled mess moved as one. It was impossible to remove one, without untangling them all. This was Nixon's current world.

Ever since the break in at the chalet, Gil's mood had not improved. If he suspected Nixon of the theft, then it remained unsaid. Maybe it was the pressure of the imminent mini tour with The Riders. In truth, musically at least, by the end of rehearsals, things had moved on. Once again, Nixon had almost bullied it out of them, but finally managed to get something approaching a reasonable representation of what they'd recorded. Gil's vocals, though, were limited, and no amount of musicianship was going to cover for that. Nixon wondered whether Gil was aware. It was too late now. Soon they'd be on a stage, a big stage, with a large audience, and an audience that hadn't come to see them. If Gil realised he'd bitten off too much, he didn't mention it. Nixon had tried his best, partly out of his own pride, but also out of guilt. He felt guilty because he hadn't slept with Isabella.

Nixon Tyme had never met a woman like Isabella before, and for a man who'd spent most his life in their intimate company, it was a strange sensation to discover that, for the first time, he felt helpless.

Isabella intrigued, but threatened him. She'd pushed his boundaries, and challenged him to think about many things in different ways. It wasn't all one way. Nixon realised he'd begun to open up, and express his own ideas on the world and its workings. Somehow, the liberating effect of these conversations, was conversely, blocking any physical designs.

From occasional encounters when he arrived at Les Moulins, not yet two months ago, Nixon realised he was now spending a lot of his time in her company. Gil, by comparison, had drifted away, now only returning for rehearsals, spending his nights at the chalet. It was hard for Nixon to deal with. How could he say 'I'm not screwing your wife'? But all the time, guessing that was what Gil was thinking. Even Isabella herself, had practically invited him. Was she using him to get back at Gil? or was he misreading her, and risking their friendship if he tried to take it any further?

That was the strangest thing, though........taking it further. The truth was, he didn't actually want to, not because of attraction, but somehow, he felt it would break the spell, and so began an absurd parlour game, with Nixon making excuses, and getting out of harms way before things went further. This appeared to confuse Isabella, and by the day that Baby Strange joined the tour, Isabella had begun to show signs of frustration. He was now feeling alienated on two fronts, and so, from a complicated start, his personal baggage had now become an ever more tangled mess.

III

After Paris, The Belleville Riders visited Lille, Strasbourg and Dijon, then onto Lyon, Montpellier and Marseille, before taking a day off, for the long trip back up north to Normandy, and Caen, which would be their first date with Gil Riot's embryonic band.

Up to that point, the tour had passed mostly without incident. There was some crowd trouble at Dijon, where it appeared the hall couldn't contain all who wanted in. In Montpellier, Ren fell off the stage, as a result of the strange French penchant for lighting bands from the rear. It meant that the stage front was poorly lit, and Ren, ever goading his youthful audience with his little crop, misjudged the edge, during one exuberant lunge, and over he went. It could have been a catastrophic fall, save for the dense throng. Instead, quick thinking turned it into a spontaneous stage dive, and Ren, with his usual opportunistic tendencies, made the most of it with his female fans. Somehow, the spirit of Marrat was momentarily forgotten, but nobody seemed to care, as a sea of eager hands eventually ferried their leader, victoriously, back to the stage.

Jack Renard, Tanner concluded, was a clever bugger. He knew from way back, before he'd even met him, that Neil, when asked to give some background, had called him nobodies fool, though he often preferred to play it. As the tour rolled on, Tanner was surprised at how easily Ren had slipped into it all. That warm up show at the bar in Rennes, had been a revelation, but not so surprising, seeing that he'd spent years doing the same with his tribute band.

It was the bigger stages, particularly in Paris, where Tanner saw a different side. He'd imagined that it may take some time for him to become comfortable with bigger audiences....but no, not a bit of it. It was only at the quayside cafe, on Marseille harbour, the day after his stage diving exploits, that Tanner learned more of the maverick singer's history. It was a beautiful, late summer afternoon. Ren sat there in his Onassis shades, nursing an espresso, and his now, customary Amaretto.

“You see Tanner, dear boy, it wasn't only bars and weddings...oh no.......”

Stoned Again, it turned out, had done hundreds of shows like these. The world of corporate entertainment stretched far and wide. Ren explained how the band, over the years, had developed.

“The middle east, China, India, football stadia, huge conference halls..we've done them all, dear. In some of those places they didn't get 'proper' bands that often, and so we were the next best thing. Most bands have never seen audiences the size we have. Well, we soon realised, we could behave like stars. Doing the Stones, of course, meant loose was acceptable....... Rehearsals ?....Fuck that...just wing it, and crack on !”

Tanner saw it all now. That's what Simon Palmersley was attracted to, and in a long, roundabout way, the reason why they were both now sitting here, enjoying the Mediterranean sun. Ren was, as sound man Roger succinctly put it, “an enigma wrapped in a riddle”. One moment, quoting Shelley, the next, leering over anything with a pulse. Tanner admired his 'Crack on!' barrow boy work ethic, but squirmed as he stuffed boiled eggs, and hunks of cheese into his pockets from the breakfast buffet. All this was topped off with some romantic fantasy, that he was actually descended from French aristocracy. It was a mass of contradictions, but by chance, perfect for his new role. If only there was the possibility of some fresh songs, then this whole project may have some legs.

On the long drive back up north, Tanner thought about his future. He thought about the band, Cecile, then Erica, and his life in London that he no longer wanted. To stay in France, and build a future here, he'd need something else to do....... Perhaps, things would be clearer after the festival.

IV

If Ren had slipped comfortably into his current lifestyle, as a legitimate Rock n Roll entertainer, then Gil Riot, that Monday night in Caen, was finding things increasingly trying. The Bellevilles had four shows to play until their ultimate litmus test, at the festival, the coming Saturday. Baby Strange would be playing the first three, then hopefully Gil Riot would be out of the way, unable to shake the foundation, that Tanner hoped, would give his band their platform. It was no surprise then, that Tanner, while keeping his side of the bargain, wanted to make sure that Gil was kept at arms length. The show, for the Riders passed in the usual fashion. From the moment they sauntered on stage, their fluid power immediately raised the heat, and the difference in class between them and their hastily assembled support, was obvious.

For Nixon, it went as well as could be hoped. The audience were politely respectful to the short set. Nobody made any mistakes, but in reality, it was at best, only average. Nixon had seen it coming, but it was a wake up call for Gil and the others. Over the next two shows things did improve a little, and by Rennes, on the Wednesday, perhaps buoyed by playing in front of his home crowd, Gil and his band, while certainly not bringing the house down, had given a pretty decent performance.

It was only earlier that day, briefly at sound check, and then at the subsequent pre gig meal, that they'd even got to meet The Riders. Back in Caen, Tanner had made sure that no one from Gil's band went near their dressing room, or even crossed paths back stage. Later, it was made clear at the after show party, that they still weren't welcome. They may have been the support band, but that was all it was going to be. The night after in Brest, was the same, and Gil was clearly hurt by being blanked. Nixon pointed out the obvious.

“Well, what did you expect, after blackmailing them ?”

Then Gil tried one last, desperate measure. At the end of the evening in Brest, he made his way towards The Belleville's dressing room.

“Sorry fella, no one's allowed in” Nash was only too happy to deny access.

“No, no, its okay....It's a peace offering.........A gift for the band” Gil handed Nash a carrier bag.

It did the trick, not that night, but in Rennes the next day. Gil's gift, of a bottle of good scotch, and generous bag of coke, had clearly softened attitudes. Tanner, with some encouragement from the band, relaxed his guard, and Baby Strange were finally allowed to mingle. It was their last night. Gil's threat carried little weight now, and too late for any revelation to change much before the festival. At the pre gig meal, now set for two bands, Gil and Nixon finally made their introductions.

“Wow, you two were really at the 100 Club ?”

And so, out it came. Gil told the tale of his visit to London, his encounter with Marrat, the accident with the taxi, the blood bond, and then, very nearly, the true reason why Nixon was here. Nixon stepped in quickly.......

“...Well yeah, we made this blood bond thing........that one day, we'd play with The Riders. We didn't know it'd be the last show for twenty five years, though, did we ?........then, when you lot got back together......well........... I never thought Gil would blag it.......”

“......Blackmail it, more like........” Gil looked embarrassed. Damon continued “....Naaa, it's all right, you guys are okay, especially if ya got any more o' those peace offerings”

“I can do better than that.”

To Nixon's amazement, Gil went on to explain, as an act of gratitude, how he'd like to invite everybody back to stay at his spacious country house, and studio.

“It's a residential studio complex, there is room for everybody, and you can stay right through till the festival. It's only twenty minutes from Bonnefontaine, and.........it could be more comfortable than a hotel.......if you understand me ?” Damon nodded his approval.

He was always looking for an in, Gil. Obviously, the invite to Les Moulins had an agenda, but Nixon wasn't quite sure what. He wondered what Isabella may make of this magnanimous gesture, given the cool reception he'd got on his arrival, but then, Isabella wasn't his responsibility, and Gil clearly didn't care. At least it might take some of the tension away from his direction. Four nights, for eight, in decent hotels, didn't come cheap, and Tanner pondered the advantages of Gil's offer.

He looked at Nixon.“You know this place as well, then ?

Nixon knew Les Moulins very well now. To him, he couldn't think of any place he'd rather be.

“It's okay, yeah” 

“Well that's sorted then, eh Tanner ?.....” Ren clapped, then rubbed his hands. Then, almost as an after thought....... “Aah Gil....... I trust it'll be okay to bring a.....err... chum or two, along ?” 

Gil smiled at Ren, and winked. “It's not a problem, man. No problem at all”