Aimee?’
‘Yes.’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, hey, British accent. Is that Matthew?’
She remembered him!
‘Yes, yes it is.’ Matthew was relieved not to have to explain who he was. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks. Even better now. I didn’t think you’d call.’
‘Well, I had to. I want to make sure you spent the last few days immersed in pseudo-history websites.’
‘A promise is a promise. You wouldn’t believe how diverting this stuff is!’
Matt couldn’t believe it. Not only had he managed to pull off a witty line with a beautiful woman but she had actually been interested enough in their previous conversation to follow through. This was incredible.
‘Seriously? What have you found? A long lost tribe of Celts?’
Aimee laughed. ‘No. I’ve been much more interested in the Spanish stuff. It goes deeper than the helmet, you know?
‘Go on.’
‘Well, right now I’m looking at a Pohutukawa tree, that’s a New Zealand native. Lovely big green trees with red blossoms, they grow on the coast.’
‘Ok.’
‘I’ve got a picture on my screen of a real beauty, it’s about 500 years old.’
‘Uhuh.’ Matt wasn’t sure where this was going.
‘That would all be good... if it was in New Zealand.’
‘Ah, OK. Where is it?’
There was a pause. Was she pausing for effect? It was working. Matt hung on every word she said. All right, maybe that wasn’t because of what she was saying, but rather because she said it to him.
‘In the gardens of the police station in La Coruña, the capital city of Galicia.’
‘I’ve not been there,’ Matt said, although he had no idea why he said it. ‘Been to the Costa del Sol a few times though.’ What a klutz Matt. Leave it out.
‘You’ve got one up on me, we don’t get to Europe all that much from here.’
Matt felt like a moron. It was one thing for hordes of Brits and Germans to flock to Spain every year, but New Zealanders? Where do they go?
‘The million dollar question,’ Aimee continued, ‘is how it got there. I found out that La Coruña was a popular port in the 16th century because it was cheap and the pirates didn’t cause much grief. The Spanish Helmet is a 16th century close helmet. So I figure, maybe someone took a Pohutukawa seedling and dropped their helmet in the harbour all at the same time.’
‘Sounds like an eventful trip. Wouldn’t there be records of something like that?’
‘Maybe the tree is the only surviving record?’
‘I guess it’s possible.’
‘Well, I also read a bit about Kumara and Hangis.’
‘You’ll have to translate that for me,’ Matt laughed.
‘Kumara, c’mon, we talked about it on the plane. The South American sweet potato. And a Hangi is a Maori earth oven. Well, in South America they use ovens that are almost identical. And you know what else...?’ Aimee’s voice rose with excitement, ‘the Kumara store-houses, traditional Maori ones, are built above the ground and look just like South American store houses.’
‘That’s pretty damned interesting.’
‘Then there was the so-called Crosshouse.’
‘Crosshouse?’ Matt was flabbergasted by the amount of research that Aimee must have done over the past days. This really was some girl.
‘A Maori meeting house or school that was burned down in the Eighties. Its design was strongly influenced by sun, star and moon movements. Like the Celts did. Where did the Maori get these ideas from, did they develop them alone, or were they taught?’
‘I don’t know,’ Matt said.
They continued to discuss the questions that Aimee’s research had raised for a few more minutes and made small talk about catching up again while Matt was in town. He promised that if he had questions, he would get in touch. Surprising himself, he made the light-hearted suggestion they maybe meet for a meal before he left the country. He just about squealed when she agreed. Hanging up the phone, Matt promised himself to find an excuse to get in touch with her again before the week was
‘Yes.’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, hey, British accent. Is that Matthew?’
She remembered him!
‘Yes, yes it is.’ Matthew was relieved not to have to explain who he was. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks. Even better now. I didn’t think you’d call.’
‘Well, I had to. I want to make sure you spent the last few days immersed in pseudo-history websites.’
‘A promise is a promise. You wouldn’t believe how diverting this stuff is!’
Matt couldn’t believe it. Not only had he managed to pull off a witty line with a beautiful woman but she had actually been interested enough in their previous conversation to follow through. This was incredible.
‘Seriously? What have you found? A long lost tribe of Celts?’
Aimee laughed. ‘No. I’ve been much more interested in the Spanish stuff. It goes deeper than the helmet, you know?
‘Go on.’
‘Well, right now I’m looking at a Pohutukawa tree, that’s a New Zealand native. Lovely big green trees with red blossoms, they grow on the coast.’
‘Ok.’
‘I’ve got a picture on my screen of a real beauty, it’s about 500 years old.’
‘Uhuh.’ Matt wasn’t sure where this was going.
‘That would all be good... if it was in New Zealand.’
‘Ah, OK. Where is it?’
There was a pause. Was she pausing for effect? It was working. Matt hung on every word she said. All right, maybe that wasn’t because of what she was saying, but rather because she said it to him.
‘In the gardens of the police station in La Coruña, the capital city of Galicia.’
‘I’ve not been there,’ Matt said, although he had no idea why he said it. ‘Been to the Costa del Sol a few times though.’ What a klutz Matt. Leave it out.
‘You’ve got one up on me, we don’t get to Europe all that much from here.’
Matt felt like a moron. It was one thing for hordes of Brits and Germans to flock to Spain every year, but New Zealanders? Where do they go?
‘The million dollar question,’ Aimee continued, ‘is how it got there. I found out that La Coruña was a popular port in the 16th century because it was cheap and the pirates didn’t cause much grief. The Spanish Helmet is a 16th century close helmet. So I figure, maybe someone took a Pohutukawa seedling and dropped their helmet in the harbour all at the same time.’
‘Sounds like an eventful trip. Wouldn’t there be records of something like that?’
‘Maybe the tree is the only surviving record?’
‘I guess it’s possible.’
‘Well, I also read a bit about Kumara and Hangis.’
‘You’ll have to translate that for me,’ Matt laughed.
‘Kumara, c’mon, we talked about it on the plane. The South American sweet potato. And a Hangi is a Maori earth oven. Well, in South America they use ovens that are almost identical. And you know what else...?’ Aimee’s voice rose with excitement, ‘the Kumara store-houses, traditional Maori ones, are built above the ground and look just like South American store houses.’
‘That’s pretty damned interesting.’
‘Then there was the so-called Crosshouse.’
‘Crosshouse?’ Matt was flabbergasted by the amount of research that Aimee must have done over the past days. This really was some girl.
‘A Maori meeting house or school that was burned down in the Eighties. Its design was strongly influenced by sun, star and moon movements. Like the Celts did. Where did the Maori get these ideas from, did they develop them alone, or were they taught?’
‘I don’t know,’ Matt said.
They continued to discuss the questions that Aimee’s research had raised for a few more minutes and made small talk about catching up again while Matt was in town. He promised that if he had questions, he would get in touch. Surprising himself, he made the light-hearted suggestion they maybe meet for a meal before he left the country. He just about squealed when she agreed. Hanging up the phone, Matt promised himself to find an excuse to get in touch with her again before the week was
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