The Poppy Field: A gripping and emotional historical romance. Deborah Carr

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      Excitement made Gemma’s heart pound rapidly. “Could you, um repair a roof?”

      “Yes.” He frowned slightly. “Why?”

      “How about renovating a farmhouse and outbuildings?” She asked, willing him to agree.

      Tom stopped what he was doing and narrowed his eyes. “That depends. I’ve got quite a bit of work on. I’d have to come and see what needs doing before I could give you a definite date for carrying out any work.”

      It didn’t sound quite so positive. Gemma’s smile slipped.

      “How bad is it?” Tom asked.

      “There are tiles in the yard. They looked to me as if they’ve been there a while.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying not to sound too desperate. “I’m renovating the place for my dad,” she explained, not wishing Tom to think she was completely disorganised. “He arranged for a builder to come and do the work, but he came this morning to tell me he couldn’t do it, after all. Then he left.”

      Tom frowned thoughtfully. “Was he an older man, with a young lad?”

      “Yes. Look, I don’t want to be annoying,” she said, not wishing to begin her stay in the area by getting on the wrong side of him. “If you can’t do it, maybe you could recommend someone else who can.”

      Tom gave it some thought. “There really isn’t anyone else in the area.” He looked at the clock on the wall above Marcel’s head. “Is it far from here?”

      “Only five minutes by foot.”

      “Tell you what, I’ve got to be somewhere in just under an hour, but I can give you a lift back to your place. That way you won’t have to carry these things back and I can have a quick look to see what can be done,” he shrugged. “If I can’t do all the work, I’ll figure out when I can make temporary repairs to keep it watertight for you.”

      Gemma didn’t care that her relief showed on her face. “That’s very kind. Thank you,” she said, grabbing his right hand and shaking it.

      Marcel cleared his throat and pointed to the ancient till.

      “Sorry,” Gemma said letting Tom’s hand go to retrieve her purse from her bag and pay for her shopping. She spotted a mop and bucket to the side of the till. “If you’re giving me a lift, then I may as well buy these while I’m here.”

      They carried everything out to his blue pick-up. Tom loaded everything while Gemma quickly popped into a shop for a couple of essentials. Minutes later they arrived at the farmhouse.

      “Ahh,” he said, stopping halfway along the pathway to the front door. He looked up and stared at the missing tiles. “I recognise this place,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone living here though, not for the past ten years or so, anyway.”

      “Twelve, more like,” she said, hoping he wasn’t going to be put off by seeing how neglected the place was.

      He raked a hand through his hair. “Not good,” he murmured. Spotting Gemma staring at him in horror, he added. “But don’t worry. Right, let’s get this lot inside.” He followed her into the house, carrying most of her shopping into the kitchen

      They put the bags on the kitchen table. “Not much going on in here, I’m afraid,” she said surveying the basic kitchen with its chipped butler sink, larder cupboard, fridge and electric cooker.

      “I doubt this room has been updated since the fifties,” Tom said.

      “It’s quaint, in a strange, grimy way,” she joked, unused to being so relaxed with someone she barely knew.

      Tom strode over to the window and looked outside. “There’s a decent yard out there. You know, I think you could do a lot with this place.”

      Bolstered by his reassurances, Gemma asked. “Shall we take a look upstairs?”

      “May as well,” he said, smiling and waiting for her to lead the way. “What’s it like up there?”

      “I haven’t dared look yet,” she admitted. “I hope it won’t seem so bad if I’m not alone.”

      She walked up the stairs carefully. She wasn’t sure how rotten the wood was in this place and didn’t want to take any chances.

      Reaching the landing, she pushed the door on her left open, wincing when an acrid smell of mould hit her nostrils. “Ooh, that doesn’t bode well.”

      “Be brave,” he said. “We may as well go in. At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with then.”

      She liked the thought that she wasn’t alone with this project any more. “Come on then.” She stepped into the room, covering her nose with the top of her hoodie. “There’s damp everywhere,” Gemma cringed.

      Tom was right behind her. “They,” he said, pointing at the huge group of mushrooms growing in one corner of the room. “Must be directly under those missing roof tiles. Right, I’ve seen enough here. Next room.”

      Gemma moved on to the next room, as Tom closed the bedroom door behind them. She was grateful she wouldn’t be needing the spare room any time soon. “I hope this is better than the first one,” she said. “I don’t fancy living in a house that’s a health hazard.”

      “This bathroom isn’t so bad,” she said unable to hide her relief. “I’ll soon clean this up with some scouring and bleach.” Reaching the final door on the landing, she took a breath and opened the door. Sighing with relief, she stepped aside to let Tom join her.

      “This isn’t too bad at all,” he said, pressing the weight of his foot on various floorboards. Some creaked in defiance, others seemed much stronger to Gemma. “All this needs is a good clean and some decoration.”

      “A new bed mattress, too,” she said looking at the striped ticking mattress that had been rolled up and tied with twine. They turned to leave the room at the same time, bumping into each other. Gemma gasped.

      “Sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked, grabbing her arms and looking her up and down.

      Gemma was too embarrassed to admit that it was the unexpected physical contact with him that had caused her reaction. “No, I’m fine,” she said, hurriedly scanning the room for something to use as an excuse. Noticing a tiny fireplace, she pointed. “I just spotted that. It’s going to be useful without any heating up here.”

      “It certainly is, but I can’t help thinking —” He hesitated.

      “Is something wrong?” Had her erratic behaviour frightened him off? She hoped not; the last thing she needed was for him to change his mind about doing the work.

      “Are you sure you want to live here while this work is being done?”

      She didn’t like to admit that right now she would prefer to be staying in her sparsely furnished, but warm modern flat in Brighton. “I’m doing this project for my dad,” she said. It wasn’t the entire truth, but she didn’t know Tom well enough to confide in him just yet. “I’m happy being here by myself.”

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