The Parisians weren’t as rude or haughty as the English said they would be. A bonjour went a long way towards getting some courtesy in return, just like back home. We’ve tried much of the local foods, even escargot – snails! but they’re too slimy and garlicky for my taste. I’m loving the baguettes, paté and cheeses though. Such variety and they’re all scrumptious. Dad would be hard pressed to find a steak-and-three-veggies dinner anywhere in Paris. If he did, it would taste better than anything to come out of Gran’s old cooking range at home. Apologies to Mum, it’s just that the French know how to make the simplest food taste divine.
The weather has been pleasant for early summer and the city has been busy. There are dozens of coaches forever dumping or picking up us tourists — and all amidst such a babble of languages. It was crowded at the Louvre, Versailles and every other tourist site, but I still got close to the Mona Lisa (had to hip-and-shoulder a few Japanese gents out of the way) and I even touched a Rembrandt painting. Naughty me!
There are 35 of us on the tour: 16 Aussies, 15 Kiwis, three South Africans and one American. Most of them seem okay, but we’re so rushed it’s hard to get around everyone and say hello and have a natter about where they come from and what they do back home. That’s one of the reasons I left Te Awamutu – I want to learn more about people and this big wide world.
At home, there were always plenty of customers in the pharmacy where I worked. I loved chatting to them although the conversations were starting to be too much the same: the family, farm life and rugby. Even in summer when there’s no rugby they still like to look ahead to the next season.
I love Waikato, and rugby, but I know there is much more to discover out here. Speaking of discoveries, there are more boys than girls on the tour. Great, a couple of them are cute. One guy was quite attentive to me yesterday.
Dear Diary… should I share what happened after drinks at the camping ground bar? Perhaps another time!
The tour company seems amateurish. It was chaotic at the camp site getting meals ready and arranging tents.
Our driver and guide, Eddie Malone, is on his first trip by himself and is struggling to cope with all his duties. I think he’s getting around by following the other tour buses everywhere. A wally on a Contiki bus called us the Budget Bludgers after Eddie stuck to their rear bumper for the return trip from Versailles. We don’t care as we’re having fun. NB: fill in the blank dates while on the road!
These early entries always brought a smile to the holder of the diary. The excitement and enthusiasm for the long-awaited adventure was infectious. The Judy Williams that Te Awamutu knew was always a glass-half-full person. She was blue-eyed, attractive and her engaging personality created many friendships across the community.
Her athletic physique was toned by summer tennis and winter netball. Dreams of a career with the Silver Ferns briefly flourished when Judy was selected for a Waikato junior squad as a Wing Attack. However, she stopped growing at 1.55 metres and the height and pace of the modern game left her behind. Judy’s blonde ponytail would be seen bobbing up and down the court, leaping frantically for intercepts that her taller opponents picked off with ease. She never lost her passion for netball and usually played at least twice a week; occasionally in back-to-back matches if a team was missing a player.
Judy was never short of friends at school, or dates for the district’s social events. She was briefly tempted by a Bachelor of Arts course at Auckland University, which could lead to a teaching qualification. A job at a primary school had some appeal. However, images of London and Europe had fuelled Judy’s dreams from her mid teens. The only way to make them real was to save money, and to do that she had to work hard. And that she did, milking the dairy herd with her father in the mornings before a full shift on the counter at the pharmacy in Te Awamutu. All the customers, friends and family knew about Judy’s dream trip – and that she earned it.
Chapter 4
Andrew Hackett found himself back in his home office at 5.50pm – earlier than he anticipated. Saturday afternoon drinks with Ferdy Ackermann and his latest beau Jacinta, hadn’t gone well, at least not for the ladies. The men had been best mates since kindergarten and nothing could break their bond.
Hackett’s wife was a supremely tolerant person, capable of making herself comfortable in any social gathering. She’d even left one former Prime Minister besotted with her charms at a Liberal Party fundraiser before the last election. But, two hours with Ferdy’s latest conquest was too challenging even for Marianne.
The men had been engrossed in conversation – as per usual, leaving the ladies to entertain themselves – until the harsh scrape of a metal chair on concrete indicated things had gone awry. Hackett realised his wife was on her feet glaring at Jacinta.
‘Andrew, take me home please before I do the world a favour and throttle this gold-digger.’
Marianne picked up her handbag and left their kerbside table across the road from the Botanical Gardens. As Ferdy’s lady-friend was a regular face on the South Yarra social scene it ensured Marianne’s parting zinger, heard by several tables of drinkers, would emerge on Twitter before Marianne reached the BMW.
‘Jacinta clawed in cat-fight at the gardens!’
Hackett shrugged at Ferdy and hastily chased after his wife. He didn’t feel any need to apologise to Jacinta, they hadn’t said anything more than hello. His best mate had been squiring ladies of a similar ilk – tall, model-thin and many years his junior – ever since Ferdy accumulated the first of his many millions.
Hackett always compared Ferdy to the debonair British actor Sir Roger Moore in his prime. Unlike the James Bond heart-throb, Ferdy never endangered his playboy lifestyle by getting married. Most lady friends were accepted by Marianne for the duration of the romance which was usually weeks and, occasionally, a couple of months.
Hackett caught up with his furious wife at their car. He opened the passenger door and looked back to see Ferdy pouring more champagne. Last drinks for Jacinta? Marianne’s only comment on the five-minute drive home was to declare that Jacinta was never to set foot in her house, and that Ferdy had some serious grovelling to make up for that social faux pas.
Hackett knew Marianne would eventually tell him the reason for her explosive exit. They had been few and far between in their 27- year marriage; or so he believed when he wasn’t the cause of them. After storming around the home, tidying benches and rearranging cushions on sofas that didn’t need attention, Marianne, still clutching a cushion, finally entered the office to release the pressure valve.
‘Do you know what that silly cow said?’
‘No, babe,’ Hackett patiently replied, knowing it wouldn’t have been wise to guess.
‘After two hours of her twittering on about her social life and trying to get me to tell her how rich Ferdy is, she says she’s off to Thailand for another boob and face job which, incidentally, she expects Ferdy to pay for. And then she suggested I might like to join her at the clinic. Get my boobs done. What a cheek! Does she want a group discount for Ferdy?’
‘Ahhhh.’ Hackett slowly nodded as the chair reclined, considering the best way to calm his wife. Marianne wasn’t a vain or shallow woman. But turning 50 had made her a tad more conscious of her body which, in Hackett’s opinion, was still sensational. Three sessions a week at the gym, regular squash matches, yoga, the occasional tennis game and annual visits to top-class spas ensured the attractive brunette could still turn heads in Toorak. However, Hackett knew that Marianne was sensitive about the size of her bust. For Jacinta to suggest Marianne should consider breast enhancement was more dangerous than playing with a hand grenade.
‘What a stupid bitch.’ Hackett assumed much of the steam had been vented. ‘I don’t know where Ferdy finds trash like that. Anyway, I’d never let those amateur-choppers