French kiss

Their relationship may have sprung from sad circumstances, but Olivier Foubert and Nadine Willams’ unexpected love story is an exceptionally romantic one. By Josephine Brouard.

Anyone who thinks mature-age couples don’t hold hands at the movies, kiss tenderly on street corners, make clandestine love on picnic rugs under shady trees, or relish each other’s company from the kitchen to the bed and back again, obviously has not met ‘sexagenarians’ Olivier Foubert and Nadine Williams. Ask the couple if, after three and a half years together, the passion has gone out of their relationship, both look aghast in response. “Absolutely not!” says Nadine, her eyebrows hoisted skywards in shock. She glances at Olivier as coyly as an independent career woman and feminist can muster and waits for her fiancé to speak his mind. “Non, non, not at all,” her paramour responds in mild but firm tones, liberally mixing in a little of his native tongue with the English he is practising more than ever now he and Nadine are an item.

“My goodness, we even hold hands in bed, don’t we dear?” says Nadine. Olivier nods in agreement. Being a dyed-in-the-wool Frenchman, he has absolutely no problem talking about affairs of the heart. Like fine wine and cheese, Olivier seems to think all aspects of love are an essential part of the tapestry of life. He also believes there is a great deal of passion left in his and Nadine’s middle-aged bones. “We still have our disagreements, but there is also a lot of sparkle,” he pronounces in rich French tones. He may have lived in Australia 31 years, many of these as unofficial ‘godfather’ of the French community in Adelaide, but Olivier has definitely not forsaken his French roots. “Nadine and I disagree sometimes, but we have to be together,” he stresses. “If there are no fights, then there is no fire.”

Nadine interjects: “We have cultural clashes about food. He thinks I’m a terrible cook and I still won’t cook a steak anywhere near him. Olivier likes his steak bleu which is the French description for a rare steak. He thinks we Anglo-Saxons have no taste; he’s appalled, for example, when he sees anyone add vegetables to a green salad. He believes a green salad should be accompanied only by a wonderful vinaigrette.”

Olivier, ever mild mannered and softly spoken, listens imperturbably to Nadine’s chatter. It is only when he is pressed to speak that he offers further bon mots for cerebral digestion. Nadine, he explains, is learning to speak French and is getting better all the time, but he admits he occasionally tires of repeating phrases for his chérie. He makes the gesture of a man drawing down window blinds: “I say to Nadine: ‘le rideau est ferme’ [the curtain is closed].”

Nadine laughs merrily, “He’s usually very positive about my French. In fact, he remarked only the other day that I was beginning to sound like an Englishman speaking French rather than an Australian speaking French, so I’m getting closer!” They laugh uproariously at this thought, their hands compulsively creeping towards one another across the dining room table as their eyes lock. Almost imperceptibly, one feels the temperature in the room begin to rise; this is definitely a couple in the throes of mutual admiration.

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