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

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      She turned it over and peered at the back, surprised to see it was gold. Saddened to think that someone had lost such a thing of beauty, she wondered again who could have owned it. Poppies had long been a representation of remembrance, she knew that much. Maybe someone had come here from one of the casualty clearing stations close by. Or even during the Second World War?

      Tom returned and came up to her bedroom. “I’ve left you a cheese and tomato baguette on the living room table,” he said, entering the room carrying the new floorboards. “What’s that?”

      Gemma showed him what she had found.

      He put the floorboards onto the floor. “It doesn’t look very old,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “Not that I know anything about jewellery.”

      “It was incredibly dusty,” she told him, returning the brooch to the bedside drawer, as soon as he had finished looking at it.

      “Maybe the previous owner lost it, or his wife?”

      “I don’t think he ever married,” Gemma said thoughtfully. “I suppose it could have been a friend, or relative who came to stay here at some point.”

      Tom stared at her thoughtfully.

      Gemma wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something, so waited for him to speak. “Right,” he said handing back the brooch. “I’d better get on.”

      Feeling slightly awkward, Gemma remembered that he was going to help her remove the old mattress from the bedroom. “Shall we take this old thing outside?”

      “Good idea. Then you can get on with your bits, and I’ll replace these bits of flooring.”

      They dragged the old mattresses from both bedrooms up the muddy path to the meadow. Gemma brought him old magazines, and anything else she didn’t want from the farmhouse, while Tom set up the bonfire. They watched everything take light, standing with their hands outstretched towards the flames.

      “Is it feeling a little more like home now?” he asked eventually. He picked up a small branch lying under a tree and prodding the magazines pushing them further into the fire.

      “Slightly,” she pushed her hands into her pockets, glad he’d begun talking again. “It’s much nicer having someone else to chat to, in between jobs.”

      “Good. I’m glad.” He turned and gazed at the farmhouse. “It’s an appealing building. Once all the work has been done, I think it’s going to be somewhere you’ll be very happy.”

      “I’m not staying here,” she said. “Just doing it up, so my father can sell it on.”

      She was taken aback by his surprise. “I didn’t realise you weren’t wanting to keep this for yourself. So, you’re returning to the UK then?”

      Was that disappointment she saw in his face? Don’t be ridiculous, Gemma, she thought. Why would he care whether you lived here, or not? “Yes, I’ve taken a sabbatical from nursing,” she said, not adding that it hadn’t been a planned event.

      “Good for you. Don’t you miss it?”

      Gemma thought back to the last day at work and the meltdown she’d had. “I thought I might, but no, not yet.”

      He stared at her briefly. “Did you always want to be a nurse then?”

      She nodded. “Ever since I can remember. You?”

      He pulled a face. “What be a nurse?”

      Gemma nudged him and giggled. “No, silly, a builder.”

      He gazed into the flames, not answering for a several seconds. “No.”

      Unsure if she was being too nosy, Gemma asked, “What did you want to be when you were younger then?”

      Tom smiled at her, and Gemma’s heart did a somersault as his perfect lips drew back revealing his straight, white teeth. He really did have movie star looks, she thought. She realised he was saying something.

      “Sorry, I missed that.”

      “It doesn’t matter,” he said, throwing the stick into the fire. “We should be getting back to work. This lot can take care of itself.”

      Disappointed that she’d missed what he’d said, she was tempted to ask again. When she glanced out of the corner of her eyes at him, he was deep in thought striding along the muddy pathway back to the house.

      “I’ve enjoyed cleaning this place more than I expected I would,” she admitted, catching up with him. “You’ve been a wonderful help, stepping in like you did.”

      “I’m glad you’re happy.” Tom said, his smile not reaching his eyes. “I’d better get on.”

      That afternoon, Gemma’s new mattress was delivered. Tom helped her carry it up to her bedroom.

      “Now you’ve finished the floor in here, it’s almost habitable,” she said.

      “It’ll be much better than sleeping in the living room,” he said looking out the window at the bonfire. “I’d better get back and check on the fire.”

      She had already washed down the bed frame, walls, skirting boards and floor, so all she needed to do was make up her bed. Gemma tried to fathom what she’d said to alter Tom’s mood. But unable to work it out, she focused on rehanging the faded floral curtains she had washed. She stood at the doorway and surveyed the results of their efforts, there was still an enormous amount to do, but she could see a big difference in here at least.

      She wondered if she and Tom would be able to keep in contact after he’d finished working for her. She hoped so, she thought, swallowing a lump in her throat. Maybe instead of trying to be braver and bolder, she should concentrate on just making some friends. She hadn’t realised before spending time with Tom how much more enjoyable her days could be with someone to have a laugh with. She had spent her entire life believing that she was too dull to befriend. Her first boyfriend had tried to persuade her to emigrate with him to Australia to start a new life, but she had been too timid to go with him and now, seeing how she was coping here doing something new, it occurred to her that she had an awful lot to learn about herself.

      Her chest constricted with emotion. She was over-tired and being ridiculous. All she needed, Gemma mused, was a decent night’s sleep in her new bed. She could worry about how things were going in the morning.

      Gemma woke after her first night sleeping on her new mattress and stretched. It had been like sleeping on a cloud. For the first time since arriving at the farmhouse, she hadn’t woken up with a backache. She must have been in a very deep sleep, she thought, feeling a little groggy. She rubbed her eyes to try and wake up properly.

      Slipping her feet into her cold trainers, she winced. It was going to take some time before she got used to not having central heading, she thought shivering. She had always enjoyed watching programmes on television where people bought a rundown property and did them up but was quickly discovering that the reality was not nearly as comfortable as it looked. She rubbed her arms to keep them warm while she decided what to wear. It was too cold to care about appearances, so she grabbed her nearest sweater and pulled it on.

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