“I’m going back to work, too, you know, and living in a country house is no new thing for Philomena. Her own home is a charming one in England with surroundings just as lovely as these.”
He kissed his mother, waved to Tritia and shook his head at her as he opened the car door for Philomena. But he didn’t mention Tritia’s rudeness during the short drive, instead talking about nothing much until they arrived at Mevrouw de Winter’s door, where he stood quietly while Philomena thanked him for her weekend.
He looked down at her, smiling a little. “It was rather spoilt, wasn’t it? We must make up for it next time.”
She had the sad thought that there was unlikely to be a next time. Tritia would see to that, and perhaps it would be as well—her suddenly surprised mind warned her that falling in love with one’s rich, handsome employer was something which happened in novels, not to real girls such as herself.