15September2005

This is a true fairy tale. We need stories like this to take our minds off the ear-bashing we’ve had from the politicians over the last month.

Let me set the scene. It’s Paris, early spring 2005. Maria from California, as we have now come to know her describes herself as a 60 something widow of two years, she’s in Paris with her daughter. She is looking for somewhere to dine and she stops outside Le Temps Perdu, an upmarket Paris restaurant. The menu, as so often is the case, is displayed on the wall outside. As she begins her perusal she’s joined by a handsome, well as handsome as any sixty seven year old male can look. They begin reading the menu together. His french Maria describes as atrocious. You’ll find out later why this is so. In the meantime just picture the lovely 60 plus widow of two years on a spring evening in Paris reading the menu on a restaurant wall with a five foot ten sixty seven year old male of medium build with sandy blonde hair. Not actually what you’d call romantic. Somehow our sandy blonde haired sixty seven year old blurts out in a Kiwi accent. “Bon soir Madame. parlez – vous anglais.” “Oui” replies our widow. “Parlez vous francais” “Non” replies the sixty seven year old. “Then let’s speak English” suggests the widow. And so they did for the next hour and a half. Unmitigated, uninterrupted English.

It transpires that he’s in France to visit his daughter in Lyon. She found this out as a result of them finding the outside menu acceptable and they’ve gone inside the Le Tempes Perdu. Probably because they both met in the street for the first time it’s only proper that they sit themselves at neighbouring tables. Very French. They strike up small talk. She tells him of her recent widowhood. He tells her amongst other things that he used to be a lawyer in New Zealand and now is retired. That explains his execrable French. She expresses surprise that there are lawyers in New Zealand. She always thought of it as a country, clean and green and free of predators. Their laughter transcends the gap between their two tables. She notices his white teeth. Obviously his own. His hair is uncommonly sandy blonde for a man of his obvious years. She wonders whether it could be due to Grecian 2000? “May I ask how old you’ll be at your next birthday” he asks. This was a trick he learnt from dealing with his elderly clients. It always caught them off guard. “I’m sixty something” she replies. “You don’t look a day over 50” he flatteringly responds. He orders the beef “bouef bourguinon”. She decides on the ”magret canard” (I hope you’re enjoying all this French. I feel it gives an air of authenticity to the story). What I omitted to tell you was the widow’s daughter is in the background. All the time she’s sitting alongside her mother. Saying nothing. When our blonde haired retired lawyer excuses himself “excuse moi ou est les toilettes” the daughter whispers in the mother’s ear. “Ma, he’s hitting on you”. I’m not sure I know what that means but then you must remember these women come from California.

And so the evening meanders on. He tells her tales of his life in the law. His notable court victories and losses when he was younger. Clients he couldn’t stand. But most of all the wonderful “little people” as he called them had been privileged to meet and act for. Candle lights on the table flicker romantically. She looks over. He’s finished his boef. And now he’s folding the grand napkin he’d tucked up under his chin to catch the gravy before it got to his tie and slowly he stands up. He bows slightly and in a nasal Kiwi he whispers “Au revoir Mesdames”. And that was it. He’d gone into the Paris night. Well not quite.

It now transpires our Californian widow who has since revealed herself as Maria is searching for our retired lawyer. She’s even employed an Auckland private investigator to find him. Maria now tells that he had “the devil in his eye. Likes to travel and speaks atrocious French.” Amazingly they never introduced themselves. So far the search has proved fruitless.

Like a couple of nameless ships passing in the night. And if she finds her Romeo, Maria is not sure what she would say to him. And I wouldn’t tell you anyway. Maybe she’ll ask him why he chose the beef rather than the duck. And by the way if you’re the 67 year old retired lawyer reading this you may want to dye your hair a different hue.