Fairwinds

by Rebecca Stratton

  CHAPTER ONE

  Not for anything would Tara have let Clifford know that she was already having second thoughts about coming with him. In fact she had never felt so apprehensive about anything in her hfe before as she did about going home with him. No matter how often he told her that his family were delighted about their being engaged, she was still to be convinced.

  His family consisted only of one brother, as far as she knew, but she would feel much more confident about his reception of the news when she had seen for herself. The one thing she found encouraging was that he came from such a small family, as she did herself, so that at least she would not be faced with the prospect of being approved, or otherwise, by hordes of relatives.

  Her own family meant only her father and a couple of more distant members, and they had approved of Clifford Hautain wholeheartedly. They had every reason to approve of him, of course, for he was not only tall and good-looking, charming and good-mannered, but quite staggeringly wealthy as well.

  Tara had met him only two months earlier, but they had discovered an immediate rapport, agreeing on so many subjects that it had become quite a joke with them, trying to find something they disagreed about.

  He half turned his head now as they drove along the steep, windingly narrow road, wrapped precariously

  round the side of a mountain and with a drop so steep that Tara held her breath every time they came to another bend. Clifford smiled, liking what he saw, and with good reason.

  Tara was the product of an Irish mother and an English father, but with a hint of some warmer clime somewhere in the family tree that showed itself in her wide dark eyes and black hair. Her mouth was soft and full and looked as if it should do nothing but smile, which it did most often, for she was a girl who enjoyed life.

  Clifford himself was something of a mixture too, only half Welsh, for his father had been French although he had lived for most of his adult life in the country of his adoption and Clifford at least counted himself completely Welsh.

  Even their French surname had been distorted to the more easily acceptable 'Hawtin' instead of its original 'O - tan', although according to Clifford his brother still used the original pronunciation and made no secret of his preference.

  It was, Tara thought, the idea of meeting Philip Hautain that was responsible for her quite uncharacteristic nervousness. She knew that since the death of their father some years ago, Philip had taken over the responsibility of his much younger brother and he was quite a man to be reckoned with, according to Clifford, although he had probably not intended to convey quite the impression he had.

  Philip had sent Clifford to university, acting as both father and mother to him, since their mother had died

  some time earlier, and he now had plans for him to join the vast and prosperous manufacturing firm he had run since their father's death.

  It was a plan that Clifford was not altogether in favour of, and more than once Tara had suspected that his desire to have her stay at the family home for the summer was more than a little in the hope that she would help to bolster his revolt against his brother's plans for him.

  'All right?' Clifford asked, and she made a face at him. 'You're not feeling nervous, are you, darling?'

  'I'm feeling very nervous,' Tara admitted. 'Are you sure your brother isn't going to mind being landed with your brand new fiancee for the rest of the summer?'

  'Of course he isn't,' he told her with an encouraging smile that made him even better looking. 'I told you, he's quite intrigued with the idea of my being engaged.' He laughed softly and reached out a hand for hers, even though they were travelling at a rate she felt was heart-stoppingly dangerous on such a road. 'We've never seen ourselves as the marrying kind! In fact I still can't quite believe it!' He shook his head. 'PhiHp will think I've taken leave of my senses.'

  Tara looked doubtful again. 'Are you sure I'll be welcome, Cliff?'

  'Yes, of course I am,' Clifford insisted. 'I've told you a hundred times, darling!' He flashed her a smile over his shoulder and negotiated a bend with all the panache of an expert. 'Now stop worrying, will you?'

  'Is - is he like you?' Tara asked, still finding Philip Hautain an unknown quantity. 'I mean to look at.'

  Clifford shook his head, laughing at his own frankness. 'No, he's not,' he told her. 'He's not as good-looking as I am!'

  '/see!'

  She too laughed at his conceit, but thought he was probably telling the truth for all that. It was not easy to imagine that there could be two men as good-looking as Clifford Hautain in one family.

  His hair, which he wore fairly long, curled slightly and was a rich, dark brown, and his eyes were blue. A bright, clear blue that mostly smiled, for he had little or nothing to be gloomy about, except for the plans he had for his future that did not coincide with his brother's. He was fully aware of his attractions too, and the wonder of it all was, to Tara, that he had become so determined to have her come home with him, so soon after meeting her.

  'He's not hideous, mind you,' Clifford told her with a laugh. 'The Hautain charm hasn't bypassed him by any means and he's had his share of - affairs?' One hand gave a purely Gallic meaning to the word, and she wondered suddenly if she had entirely the wrong picture of Philip Hautain.

  She had visualized him as almost a middle-aged man, probably because of Clifford's occasional habit of referring to him as the 'ancient half of the family', and she had imagined he would possibly be stem, too, and strait-laced with no interests outside the running of the family business. Clifford's latest revelation made her realize she would probably have to rethink her original picture and she had no idea quite what to expect now.

  'I - I hadn't quite thought of him in that light,' she confessed, and ClifTord laughed.

  'I hope you don't either,' he told her. 'You leave Philip to the more experienced talent, like Elwyn Owen-Bragg.'

  Tara gave him a curious look from the comers of her eyes, not at all sure if he was serious or not. 'Who,' she asked, 'is Elwyn Owen-Bragg? It sounds like a man.'

  Clifford seemed to find that idea very amusing, arid he laughed aloud at it, shaking his head. 'She very definitely isn't a man,' he told her, his blue eyes rolling expressively. 'She's as dangerous as dynamite and just as likely to explode too, if she's crossed. Her daddy's on the board of Hautain and Sons, and she's had her eye on Philip as husband material ever since she came out of school. Which,' he added maliciously, 'was a bit before my time, I might add.'

  'Oooh!' Tara laughed, her dark eyes watching his good-looking profile curiously. 'That was unkind, Cliff.'

  'Maybe,' he acknowledged cheerfully, 'but you haven't met Ellie yet.'

  'But if she's as attractive as you say she is, why hasn't Philip married her?'

  He laughed shortly. 'Philip isn't the marrying sort.' He reached out a hand for hers. 'And he hasn't had my luck.'

  'Then I'm surprised she hasn't married someone else just to show him,' Tara declared. T know I would have in her place.'

  'So did Ellie,' Clifford informed her casually. 'Owen was her maiden name, she added the Bragg when she got herself married to some north-country tycoon a few years ago, and she considers Owen-Bragg sounds a bit more classy than either name separately.'

  'Oh, I see. I didn't realize she was married.'

  'Divorced,' Clifford said shortly.

  She glanced at him curiously. 'And you don't like her,' she guessed, and he smiled.

  'I don't,' he confessed. 'And I'd hate to have her in the family, but maybe one of these days she'll wear down Philip's resistance and haul him up the aisle.'

  'Isn't it usually the other way round?' Tara asked with a laugh, and he pulled a rueful face.

  'I suppose it should be,' he agreed. 'But I know my big brother, and brute force
is the only way she'll get him there.'

  Clifford had told her all about Fairwinds, the house their father had bought when he first came over from France and where he had brought his bride, and Tara was curious to see it. Clifford had been bom there, but not Philip, she understood.

  Some belated patriotic quirk had made Emil Hau-tain want his eldest son to be born a Frenchman, and apparently his wife had been willing enough to comply. Clifford, however, had been bom in Wales and his Welsh mother had always favoured her younger son, during her lifetime.

  They were nearing the house now, and Tara had to agree on first sight that it was all he claimed for it. Big

  lO

  and rambling and built in grey stone, it sat amid its sheltering trees, tucked away under the shadow of a hill that was not quite a mountain. It looked mellow and welcoming in the warm, early summer sun, and she hoped her host would be as welcoming.

  'Home, sweet home,' Clifford said, and betrayed more in the tone of his voice than ever he had with words. No matter what plans he had for his own future, separate and apart from his brother's, Tara thought he would always, in time, come back to Fairwinds. There was a glow in his blue eyes when he looked at it that no woman could ever inspire, and for a moment she felt she had been forgotten.

  'It's beautiful,' she said softly, unwilling to break the spell, and he turned a smile on her that told its own story.

  'It's beautiful,' he echoed, and braked the car to a halt in front of the house, standing for a moment to look up at it. Then he turned and helped her from the car and laughed, almost self-consciously. 'I never realized how much I'd missed the old place,' he confessed.

  They were already starting up the steps to the front door when it opened and a woman came out to meet them. She was smiling and her hands were clasped together, her eyes hazy-looking, as if she was on the brink of tears,

  'Clifford!' she said, her voice liltingly Welsh as she smiled at him. 'Mr. Clifford!'

  'Hello, Ewy my old love,' Clifford greeted her, and lifted her up with his hands round her waist as if she

  weighed no more than a child, swinging her round while she shrieked her delight and made believe to scold him. Then he stood her on her feet again and turned her to meet Tara, one arm still round her shoulders. 'Tara, darling, I want you to meet Ewy, Mrs. Evans, who knows more about me than any woman has a right to know. She's mothered me for more years than I care to remember, isn't that right, Ewy?'

  The woman looked at her and smiled and Tara murmured a greeting. 'I'm glad to meet you, Mrs. Evans.'

  Clifford put out a hand and raised Tara's chin gently, smiling into her eyes. 'Isn't she beautiful, Ewy?' he asked softly. 'Tara, Tara Villiers, my fiancee. Isn't she quite beautiful?'

  'Very beautiful,' the woman echoed, her rather bleary old eyes smiling approval of Clifford's taste. 'Now you come on in, Clifford - Mr. Clifford - oh, there now, I don't know what to call you!'

  'Clifford will do,' he told her airily. 'It always was in the old days, Ewy, so why not now?'

  'Well, I don't know.' The small, expressive face looked uncertain and a little unhappy for a moment. 'Did you know your granny was here?'

  'Grand'mere?' Clifford looked completely shattered by the news and he put one hand to his forehead in an extravagant gesture of dismay. 'Oh no! How long's she been here, Ewy?'

  'Since yesterday,' Mrs. Evans told him. 'I didn't know if Mr. Philip had told you.'

  'No, he didn't, the crafty—' He laughed suddenly.

  'Did he know she was coming?'

  'I don't think so,' the woman said. 'You know Madame Hautain likes to come unexpectedly.'

  'She does,' Clifford agreed fervently. 'But I wish she'd chosen some other time than now. Oh well—' He sighed deeply and turned to put an arm round Tara's shoulders, drawing her with him up the rest of the steps to the front door. 'Come along, darling, come and meet the family. More than I'd bargained for, I'm afraid, but I wasn't to know that Grand'mere Hautain would choose this particular time to visit.'

  Tara felt even more nervous than before. It had been enough of an ordeal to anticipate the meeting with Clifford's brother, but to have to face the added obstacle of his apparently formidable French grandmother was something she had not counted on.

  'Are you sure it won't—' she began, but he shook his head and kissed her firmly on her mouth as they went across the wide hall.

  'You have first claim,' he told her in a whisper. 'Grand'mere will have to behave herself.'

  'CUff-'

  'Shush!' He kissed her again as he opened a door, almost colliding with someone on the other side, apparently on his way out. 'Philip!'

  The man facing them smiled, moving back from the doorway to allow them to go in. He grasped Clifford's hand and held it in both his own for a moment and eyes as dark as Tara's own glowed with pleasure at the sight of his brother. But it was his voice that most attracted Tara's attention, for it was quiet and

  quite exceptionally beautiful in its timbre.

  'Welcome home, Clifford. It's good to see you again!'

  'This is Tara, of course,' Clifford told him, hugging her tightly to him as if to reassure her. 'Darling, my brother Philip.'

  The dark eyes switched their attention to Tara and he held out a hand, the long, strong fingers curling over hers and holding them for a while as he studied her with uninhibited interest. 'Tara,' he echoed, making poetry of her name with that beautiful voice. 'May I call you Tara? Or should I be more formal and call you Miss Villiers?'

  'Oh no, please, call me Tara!'

  She had seldom felt more ill at ease, and she realized that although she had been right to feel nervous of meeting PhiHp Hautain, it had been for all the wrong reasons.

  It was true he was not as good-looking as Clifford in the conventional sense; but he had a clever, striking face with a high forehead and a rather wide mouth that looked as if it was not quite smiling. He was tall and had the lean grace of an athlete, or perhaps more the lithe dangerous grace of a large cat, for there was some hint of hidden power in Philip Hautain that she could not quite identify.

  He wore a light suit, perfectly cut and obviously expensive, and a cream silk shirt that threw his dark features into sharp contrast; open at the neck, it revealed a strong brown throat and a gHmpse of broad chest. Tara foimd it surprisingly informal dress for the

  man she had expected to see.

  His dark eyes still watched her, so that she got the impresssion that she was not quite what he had expected either, and she lowered her gaze hastily, rather than meet him head on. She realized with a start that he was still holding her hand, but she did not have the courage to do anything about it.

  'Welcome to Fainvinds,' Philip told her. 'And I understand from Clifford that congratulations are in order.' He did not take his eyes from Tara, although he addressed his brother. 'I congiatulate you, Clifford -she's not at all what I expected.'

  Tara was unsure whether or not she should take exception to the implication in the words, but she merely smiled, wishing she had questioned Clifford more closely about this very disturbing brother of his. There was more than a touch of arrogance about Philip Hautain that she found herself resenting, but at the same time saw it as an integral part of his undeniable attraction.

  'I'm - I'm glad you approve of me, Mr. Hautain,' she told him, and gave his name its anglicized pronunciation, as she always did with Clifford. 'I've been very doubtful about coming here like this, almost without warning, but Cliff assured me you wouldn't eat me!' She laughed nervously at her own jest, and saw the gleam that shone for a moment in his black eyes.

  Only reluctantly, it seemed, he relinquished his hold on her hand at last, but her fingers still tingled from the strong grip. 'I can't think what gave you the idea that I'm so formidable,' he told her quietly. 'Unless Clifford

  has been exaggerating. There is one thing, however,' he added smoothly. 'My grandmother is staying here for a while, and she's somewhat—' The expressive way he used his hands was
purely Gallic. 'Our name is French as no doubt you know, and it's pronounced "O - tan". For myself I don't usually bother when it's mispronounced, but Grand'mere is rather—' Again those expressive hands were put to use. 'You understand, Fm sure.'

  Tara could feel the colour in her cheeks, and she wished with all her heart that she had been sufficiently in control of her thoughts to have remembered her earlier vow to use the French pronunciation when she met Philip Hautain. Also, she thought, he did not altogether approve of her shortening his brother's christian name.

  One way and another, she felt, her first meeting with Philip Hautain had not been the unqualified success she had hoped for. This dark, disturbing man was not at all what she had expected, but something in her responded to his quiet, rather ruthless attraction in an alarming way.

  'You might have warned me about Grand'mere being here,' Clifford complained, without giving Tara time to excuse her remission, and Philip smiled rather ruefully as he led the way across the room to chairs.

  He saw Tara seated before he sat down himself, crossing one impeccably tailored leg over the other. 'I wasn't expecting her,' he said. 'And there wasn't time to warn you before you got here.'

  'She never gives a warning when she's coming,'

  Clifford said, still complaining. 'Not even when Father was alive.' He laughed, shaking his head at the memory. 'We were always petrified of her,' he explained for Tara's benefit.

  'You were,' Philip corrected him quietly. 'I don't know that she ever overawed me to that extent.'

  'Oh no, she wouldn't!' Clifford stated ruefully. 'You were always more French than I was, so she approved of you. But I know I used to run and hide whenever I heard that Grand'mere Hautain had arrived!'

  Philip smiled, that slow almost mocking smile, and his dark eyes glowed with amusement for his brother's childish fears. 'I can't think why you should have,' he said.

  'Because she didn't like me,' Clifford insisted, plaintively. 'She used to call me a little savage!' He looked at his brother hopefully. 'I suppose she hasn't mellowed with age by any chance, has she?' he asked, and Philip shook his head.