Saturday, 2^nd September, 2001

The enormous sound system of Chateau de Bonnefontaine gave a fresh dimension to the unearthly rumble of the The Belleville's intro soundtrack, and Nixon wondered about apocryphal tales of low frequency sound weapons. Here was some sort of evidence, as the thunderous, trance like rhythm quelled the boisterous crowd into submission. Despite being the work of a completely different band, the track had become synonymous with The Riders.

It was a DJ friend of Cliffo's, back at a Queen's Head rehearsal, who'd accidentally created it.

Trying out his deck for that evening's gig, he'd forgotten to isolate his headphones, and no sooner had the sound escaped his speakers, than the band had playfully joined in. Instead of cutting the record, he kept it spinning, then gently faded, gradually revealing the whole band..........mean, nasty and ominous. Marrat loved it.

Once the first few gigs had passed and they'd noticed the effect, it didn't make sense to change. Now, all these years later, at every show, the Faith Healer intro always had the same mesmerising response. It gave the band a great advantage before they'd even played a note. Audiences were drawn in, appetites whetted, and as a consequence, the band themselves had become focussed. It also gave a brilliant platform for Ren to make his entrance.

During the tour he'd made several different entrances, and by now it had become something of a sport, to find a new, dramatic way to surprise and entertain his public. The huge stage and rigging of Bonnefontaine opened up plenty of possibilities, and Ren must have used the distraction of the changeover break, to concoct his latest bid to shock.

Nixon and Isabella were certainly distracted. Their coming together had been destined for so long, but the setting of Les Moulins, at least for Nixon, had always felt wrong. For a man who'd spent his life bedding hundreds of women, the cumulative effect of the stress over events with Lucia and Isabella, being his friend's wife, had turned him into something of a puritan, and it was only now, ironically, surrounded by thousands of uninterested eyes, he could let go of this previously unknown inhibition. It was a charged moment. Ordinarily, a kiss, was the kick off to an inevitable conclusion. Here in a field, restricted and buffeted, there was nowhere to go, but somehow only heightening the erotic tension. Up against the metal barrier, fronting the stage, it was all they could do to grind slowly to the music, teasing, but knowing they'd have to wait for God knows when.

Just as Nixon felt he couldn't take much more, the familiar Riders intro surged across the air, and the crowd pressed forward, pinning him hard from behind onto her receptive body. He ached inside, and desperately tried to switch his attention to the stage in front. For nearly a minute the tension grew, as suddenly, the dirty rich tone of Damon's Les Paul, upped the ante. A huge roar erupted as the guitarist sauntered across stage, nonchalantly making his way over to the opposite side, never once glancing at his hands, but instead, staring deep into the crowd. Next came Neil, leather clad, chewing gum, bass slung low, his sound like a truck engine. By the time Cliff had hopped up onto his podium, and kicked in effortlessly with the demonic groove, there couldn't have been a pair of eyes that wasn't fixed on them.

The Belleville Riders had truly arrived...........except for Ren. Where was he?

As the band, as one, stopped to the crack of Cliff's sudden, bullet snare, the tension of the silence was like the end of the world. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, nothing, nobody moved on stage.

A few nervous whoops came up from the crowd, and then, high up in the right stanchion, a black drape curtain slowly parted. Ren's manic stare glared out into the sea of faces, and spoke with a bizarre, almost carny accent.

“Hello girls and boys............Is everybody a ready ?”

Twenty thousand voices shouted out an elongated “Ouaaay..........!” and then, in an audacious, and extremely risky move, Ren leapt out, Tarzan like, swinging down to the stage from a rope high up in the light rigging. The band cut in immediately as his feet hit the stage, and almost, without breaking step, the singer launched into the snarling rasp of their opening number.

This was the sixth time that Nixon had seen the band, and the entrances had always been dramatic, but this time, it topped the lot. It was showmanship of the highest order, and the crowd responded in kind, bounding frenetically to the unceasing pulse of the music. Here on the biggest stage, in front of the biggest crowd, Ren had taken the biggest risk of all. He'd had no way of rehearsing this, and if it had gone wrong, a fall could have seriously injured him, or worse. It was dangerous and anarchic, and everybody knew it. This band was for real, and the reaction was electric.

The Riders hurtled through their set, slick and powerful, no breaks, song to song, each one a master class of pent up fury, and the crowd loved it. Ren never stayed still. Side to side, round and round, he prowled the stage like a wild, caged animal, as if he'd invoked the very spirit of Marrat himself.

Then, in no time, they'd reached the last song, Beauty in the Streets, and, as the final chaotic chords descended into a cacophonous wall of feedback, the crowd roared its approval, but this time, the show wasn't going to end this way.

It obviously wasn't planned, as Damon and Neil had already taken off their guitars, and were waving their farewells, but Ren stayed fixed, centre stage, and began to sing.

“Je vais encore sortir ce soir !........et m'attirer un tas d'histoires”

The band, mid exit, hesitated. Ren pressed on, acapella, and slowly, the crowd began to clap in time. He'd won them over. He could do whatever he wanted. Damon reacted first, turned, picked up his guitar, and began to play, then Cliff and Neil caught the blues tinged vibe, and joined in. Tanner, side stage, next to Gil and Cecile, lost his cool. This was going to give the whole game away.

“What the fuck's he playing at....They'll never believe he's French !”

Then, before he could think of what to do, Gil had seen his chance, and rushed onto the stage. It was an inspired decision, as he moved in alongside and began to duet. Ren welcomed his friend to the mike, and arm in arm, they lurched through their brand new song. Before they hit the chorus refrain, Gil shouted out to the crowd, in French, to sing along ….and they did. The words and melody were easy, and by the second chorus, most had joined in.

Quais ca c'est le mien, tu m'en remet un.....Quais, ca c'est le mien...je te le paye demain !”

(Yeah, that's mine, pour me another...............Yeah, that's how I am, and I'll pay you tomorrow)

Gil's voice, with the crowd, melded with Ren's perfectly. Gil had even aped an English accent. It was deliberate irony, and Cecile, seeing Tanner's concern, quickly put him at ease.

“They've pulled it off, they think it's a joke.”

For Gil Riot, it was the moment of a lifetime. He was singing his own song, in front of a huge, appreciative crowd. At last, he'd got what he wanted.

Sometimes in life, taking the biggest risk reaps the biggest reward, and Tanner realised how big a risk had been taken. Ren could have played it safe, but he knew it wasn't his way, and so by association, Tanner had risked it all too.....and won. He thought about the band. They'd trusted him, and responded brilliantly. Then he thought about Gil. He'd worked well in the studio, and saved the gig at the last moment, and then finally, of course, there was Cecile......he took in her sublime beauty, and glowed. They had all taken the risk. They were all winners. His mind drifted to his conversation with Nixon, yesterday...

“Its much like observing sub atomic particles of matter. The very act of observation, appears to alter their behaviour....and so it's the same when one considers one's lot....Life is like walking a tightrope …...Don't look down.”

Tanner didn't immediately understand him, but then considered the fact he'd just made an observation, and pronounced himself a winner. It made him feel suddenly uneasy. Perhaps it was time to cash in his chips, and leave with what he had.

Sunday, 2^nd September, 2001

For the third day running, the sun shone again, but now even hotter and had become oppressive. Against the highs of yesterdays triumph, there was a vaguely anti climatic feeling amongst the group. It was over. The tour had gone better than anyone had dared to hope, and last nights show would probably be remembered for years to come, but now, only hours later, it was already beginning to fade as if it were a dream.

Despite their success, the future for the band looked uncertain. There had been some talk of releasing the two new songs as a single, but it didn't change the fact that they'd ultimately need an album, and nobody was clear on how that may come about. It was true that Gil had definitely helped in coming up with the tracks, but he wasn't in the band, and anyway, he had his own project with Nixon. Then, the mood wasn't helped when the time came to leave. They were due to leave Les Moulins at 2pm, in order to catch their late afternoon ferry back to the UK, but by ten past, it soon emerged that not everyone was going.

Nash, having revealed he had no intention of returning home, had roughly pushed Ren to the ground as he attempted to change his mind. It was a shock for everyone, not least Ren who knew him best. As he picked himself up, and watched him stomp away down the lane, no one dared intervene.

“Aah, he's a big boy.....If that's the way he wants it, leave him to it. Come on Lenny old boy, I want to go home, we've got a boat to catch !”

It was an awkward end to what had otherwise, been a great experience. After some rather subdued farewells, the tour bus finally crept out of the drive....and they were gone.

“Well, that was bit strange......What do we do now ?” Gil looked at Tanner.

Tanner felt particularly uncomfortable. Nash was, after all, part of his entourage, but having paid him up, he was no longer in his employ, and while wondering what to say, Cecile broke the silence.

“Well it's a shame to spoil such a nice day. Would it be possible to visit the beach ? It might allow him some time to cool off on his own....Perhaps he needs some space...”

Isabella felt uncomfortable too. Last night with Nixon, she'd crossed a line, and now here at the house with Gil, she needed a distraction....and space to think.

“Yes, why not ? Perhaps I can try to talk to him later, and find out what he's upset about.”

Nobody could think of a better idea, and so within an hour, they'd packed up some things, split into two cars, and were making their way to the coast. Gil had decided he'd like to take his boat out, and asked Nixon to come with him via the chalet, and join the others at the beach. The idea of returning to Gil's boat filled Nixon with dread, but at least it kept him away from Isabella, who after last night, appeared equally keen to avoid his gaze.

Later, when Gil and Nixon finally turned up, towing the boat onto the concourse, the others had already installed themselves onto the clean, soft sand. Isabella and Cecile had changed, and were lying comfortably, chatting, and sipping cocktails from plastic beakers. To their surprise, though, Tanner, looking slightly incongruous in a shirt and suit trousers, was perched on his haunches, and talking to...... Nash.

They'd discovered him walking down the lane, after leaving the house, and Isabella had succeeded in getting him to come along. With the band gone, he'd calmed down, and during the car journey, began to explain why he'd refused to go back. Part of it was the fact the tour was over, and now he had nothing to go back for. He'd had a brilliant time, and it was only until that gig in Nantes, where they'd played Gil's album in the bus, that things had changed. By the time Gil and Nixon had dragged the boat to the beach, Tanner and Nash had wandered over.

“You gonna give us a tour of the bay, then Gil ?....I don't think the ladies have much need for us at the moment”

Tanner, feeling hot and awkward, was keen to get off the beach, and so Nixon grudgingly felt compelled to make up the numbers. He could see Isabella, deep in conversation with Cecile. She'd be wanting to discuss her conundrum, and figured that the boat, at least, offered the hope of staying out of the way. The three of them jumped in, but Nash just stood there, looking miserable and alone.

“Come on, get in...You'll see things more clearly !” Tanner had no idea of how correct he was.

Nash still respected Tanner. His words seemed to stir him, and so, with one athletic bound, he quickly flung himself aboard, and as Nixon steadied the little craft, Gil fired up the outboard, and steered them out to sea.