Fairwinds

by Rebecca Stratton

'Not a scrap,' he told him. 'But surely you've outgrown that childish kink, Clifford! What on earth will Tara think of you if you shake in your shoes at the idea of meeting an old lady of over eighty?''

  'When she's met Grand'mere Hautain,' Clifford said meaningly, 'she'll know how I feel!' He glanced at Tara, then at his brother. 'Does she know Fm engaged to Tara?' he asked.

  'I told her that you were engaged to be married,' Philip said. 'After all, your letters were full of nothing but Tara for the last couple of months, so I gathered you weren't trying to keep her a secret.'

  'No, of course I'm not,' Clifford said, and again eyed his brother anxiously. 'What did she say?'

  'Does it matter?' Philip countered quietly, and Tara thought she could read between the lines. Obviously ClifTord's autocratic grandmother did not approve of his engagement, and her heart sank dismally at the prospect.

  'You know damned well it matters!' Clifford said, in the same complaining tone. ' I don't want Tara put off, and the old lady could make things darned uncomfortable if she doesn't take to her.'

  Philip's dark eyes turned on Tara for a moment, one brow raised, his gaze sweeping slowly over her features with such obvious approval of what he saw that she felt her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. A small half-smile just touched his wide mouth for a moment. 'Is there any reason why anyone should not take to Tara?' he asked quietly, and Clifford made a short, derisive sound that was meant to be a laugh.

  'Grand'mere Hautain, not being a man, is unlikely to be influenced in the same way you are,' he retorted. 'You know she'll take a dislike to any woman she thinks is likely to be honoured with her family name - particularly if she isn't French!'

  'Then you should have thought of that, and chosen a French girl,' Philip told him blandly, apparently unaware of being less than polite. He was, Tara recognized, not a very patient man and his brother was trying what little he had with his complaints.

  CHfford sighed deeply. 'Where's Grand'mere now?' he asked.

  'In her room,' Philip told him. 'She'll be down at any moment now, I should think, she'll have heard you arrive.'

  CUfford was on his feet in a moment, looking down at Tara apologetically. 'I think I'd better go and put the car away,' he said. 'I'll be back before she puts in an appearance, I expect.'

  Philip laughed softly, the sound of it sending a shiver down Tara's spine. There was maUce as well as amusement in his black eyes as he looked at his brother, shaking his head over such obvious escape tactics.

  'Surely you're past running and hiding?' he said. Tor heaven's sake, Clifford, what about Tara? Are you deserting her so soon?'

  Clifford's blue eyes regarded Tara anxiously, seeking her understanding, but obviously fearing that she would put the same construction on his going that his brother did. 'I won't be a moment, darling,' he told her. 'But I really ought to go and put the car away and see about our luggage.'

  'Oh, don't worry,' Philip told him, plainly impatient. 'I'll look after Tara for you!' His dark eyes sought to hold Tara's for a moment and glowed with a warmth that made her curl her fingers into her palms. 'It'll be a pleasure!' he added softly.

  Tara saw the frown that gathered on Clifford's brow. It was clear that he was much less happy about leaving her in this brother's care, and he shook his head, his mouth tightening. 'Yes, I'm sure you would,' he said. 'But I don't think I'll go, on second thoughts. It'll wait!'

  Philip laughed shortly and waved an airy hand in dismissal. 'Oh, for heaven's sake go and put your car away,' he told Clifford. 'Don't worry about Tara!'

  'It's not Tara I am worrying about,' Clifford retorted.

  Philip laughed again, softly, and looked across at Tara as she sat with her hands in her lap, very unsure how she felt about being a bone of contention between the brothers. Very unsure too, just what meaning lay behind Philip Hautain's dark gaze.

  'You're not nervous of staying with me, are you, Tara?' he asked her, his voice low and soft, and she shook her head, albeit uncertainly. Philip studied her for a moment in silence, then shook his head. 'Clifford knows me better than that,' he said quietly. 'I haven't yet resorted to robbing cradles.' He looked up at his brother. 'Go and put your car away,Clifford,' he told him. 'And stop acting the heavy fiance.'

  Rather surprisingly, to Tara at least, Clifford went without argument, and as he closed the door behind him Philip leaned forward and took a cigarette from a box on a table between them. He made no attempt to offer her one, but looked at her narrow-eyed through the drift of blue smoke that half concealed his face.

  'I don't bite,' he promised softly, and with a smile that scorned her nervousness. 'Certainly not in these circumstances.'

  Tara was still smarting from that remark about robbing cradles, and she looked at him down the length of her small straight nose. 'Mr. Hautain—'

  'Philip,' he interrupted quietly, and held her gaze

  for a moment like a challenge.

  Tara hesitated over the familiarity of his christian name, however, for she found Philip Hautain disturbing enough without getting any more intimate with him, so soon. 'I - I think perhaps I ought to go and see if I can give GlifT a hand with the luggage,' she ventured, and knew he would see through such an obvious ruse, even before she tried it.

  'Clifford doesn't need any help,' he told her quietly. 'If he does Porter can give him a hand, that's what he's paid for.'

  'Oh!'

  Tara subsided again, and was about to seek some other way of escape when the doors from the hall opened without warning, and Philip got to his feet in one swift, graceful movement that again reminded Tara of a large and dangerous cat. 'Grand'mere!'

  The woman who came into the room looked incredibly old at first glance, with a small wrinkled brown face and sharp black eyes, and when she saw her, Tara too got to her feet, smoothing down her dress with unsteady hands and wishing with all her heart that ClifTord had not deserted her.

  Madame Hautain, Tara thought, looked every bit as formidable as ClifTord had promised. She walked with autocratic grace to the chair her grandson set for her, remarkably straight-backed, despite her age, and murmuring her thanks in French as she smiled up at him. It was obvious that she approved of her elder grandson, at least.

  The smile was missing, however, when she turned

  those sharp black eyes on Tai a. They were shrewd and discerning and not a little critical, Tara thought, wondering how she measured up to the old woman's expectations.

  'Philippe!'

  She gave the name its French pronunciation and the command was unmistakable. She gave him no time to perform introductions in his own time, but prompted him sharply. Philip, however, merely smiled.

  He held out a hand to Tara, and rather to her own surprise, she put hers into it unhesitatingly, accepting the reassurance that the strong clasp offered, gratefully. He drew her closer to the little old woman in the armchair.

  'Grand'mere,' he said in his quiet and beautiful voice, 'this is Tara Villiers, Clifford's fiancee. Tara, my grandmother, Madame Hautain.'

  A small hand was extended in a gesture that had all the grandeur of royalty, so that for one dizzying moment Tara wondered whether she was expected to kiss the fingers rather than shake them in the noiTnal way. She settled eventually for just touching them lightly and smiling, munnuring the usual conventional words, while Philip's strong fingers still held on to her other hand.

  'You are English?'

  It sounded more like an accusation than a greeting, and Tara's independent spirit resented it. Her chin lifted and she looked down her small nose at the old lady. 'I'm part English and part Irish, Madame Hautain,' she told her inquisitor, and remembered in time

  to give the name its French pronunciation.

  The small black eyes gleamed, as if in approval. 'Ah, but perhaps a little of something else too, hmm?' Her English was excellent and barely accented, and it occurred to Tara suddenly that this must once have been a very pretty and delightful woman.

  'I believe so,' Tara a
dmitted with a slight smile. Already she was beginning to warm towards the old lady, although she could quite easily see why Clifford found her so awe-inspiring.

  'But yes, there must be,' Madame Hautain insisted, her small hands emphasizing her words. 'Such dark eyes are most definitely Latin or Gallic. You have no French blood?' she asked hopefully, and Tara shook her head.

  'Not that I know of, Madame Hautain.'

  The old lady nodded graciously. 'Ah well, you are very pretty,' she told her with a hint of a smile. 'And for that a woman may be forgiven many things.' The sharp eyes were quizzical again. 'When are you going to marry my grandson?' she asked, and looked around the room for Clifford. 'And where is he? Why is he not here?'

  Tara instinctively looked to Philip to answer the latter part of the question, hoping she would be spared having to reply to the first. It was obvious that Philip was not in the least over-awed by his grandmother and he smiled.

  'He's putting his car away, Grand'mere,' he said. 'He won't be long.'

  A malicious and rather surprising chuckle issued

  from the old lady and her eyes gleamed wickedly at him, sharing a joke. 'Still running away?' she asked. Philip smiled slowly, but said nothing. 'And he left you with his fiancee?' Madame Hautain said. 'He was always a fool, that boy!'

  Tara felt an upsurge of anger at the jibe, especially as Clifford was not there to defend himself. She was not at all happy about the implication either, although Philip Hautain seemed unperturbed by it. Madame Hautain seemed to take it for granted that any woman would find her elder grandson attractive, and Tara realized uneasily that it was true. In the brief moment that she caught his eye, she felt a disturbing leap in her heartbeat and realized that those strong fingers were still curled round hers. It would be difficult to extricate herself without being obvious about it and Tara had the feeling that if she were to try, the old lady would enjoy her discomfiture as much as her grandson would.

  'I merely promised to look after Tara until Clifford comes back,' Philip told his grandmother. 'You might say I was - baby-sitting!' He saw Tara seated in her chair again, and only then released her hand. 'He wasn't very happy about it,' he added quietly, and his black eyes glittered down at Tara for a moment before he turned away.

  'And with good reason!' the old lady remarked with another chuckle. There were sounds of footsteps in the hall and she cocked her white head, turning sharply when the door opened. 'Ah! Clifford!'

  Clifford looked much more like a recalcitrant school-

  boy than Tara would have believed possible, but he bowed over his grandmother's hand, then bent and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. 'Grand'mere!'

  The old lady leaned back in her chair and studied him with her sharp eyes, appreciating his good looks and his tall slimness, then she nodded. 'You are ery good-looking,' she informed him with embarrassing candour. 'But it is a pity you are not darker, like Piiil-ippe/

  Clifford was very proud of his good looks and did not mind at all that he bore little resemblance to his father's family, and he frowned at the criticism. Tm quite happy as I am,' he told his grandmother, and smiled across at Tara. 'And so is Tara, aren't you, darling?'

  Tara murmured a reply, but she was somewhat disconcerted to hear Philip Hautain's quiet laugh, and knew that those dark eyes were watching her as she answered. Summer at Fairwinds, she felt, was Hkely to prove far more eventful than she had anticipated.

  CHAPTER TWO

  T CAN understand how you must have felt terrified of her when you were a little boy,' Tara told Clifford as they walked through the gardens after lunch a day or two later. 'She has an - an aura, somehow. She's a wonderful old lady, but very autocratic.'

  'She still petrifies me,' Clifford confessed with a short laugh. 'When I was a little boy I always had these very vivid visions of her knitting like fury while heads rolled in the Revolution, but that's a contradiction when you think about it. She'd have been much more likely to have been losing her head.'

  'She's certainly very aristocratic,' Tara agreed.

  They had been discussing Madame Hautain ever since they came out into the garden, and Tara began to wonder if the old lady was destined to play a major part in both their lives during their stay. It was impossible to guess how long she was proposing to stay, and if Philip knew he was not forthcoming with the information.

  'She's going to ruin everything,' Clifford complained. 'It would have been fine without her. I wanted you to meet Philip, and see the old house.'

  'You love Fairwinds, don't you?' she asked, looking up at him, and he frowned for a moment before replying.

  'I always have, I suppose,' he admitted. 'But that

  doesn't affect my decision to leave here.'

  'Won't you miss it?'

  'Yes, I imagine so,' he said. 'But it's just one of those things. It'll still be my home if I ever want to come back, and I wanted you to like it and like my family. There's not much hope of you taking to us while Grand'mere Hautain's here.'

  'Oh, I don't see why not,' Tara told him with an encouraging smile. 'I already like you, and your grand-mama isn't so bad really. You just don't have to let her intimidate you, that's all.'

  He looked down at her gloomily, one arm around her shoulders. 'You sound like Philip,' he accused, and she shook her head in hasty denial.

  'I'm sure I don't.'

  Clifford was quiet for several moments as they walked down the path between the first early rose bushes, then he looked down at her again curiously. 'How do you like my big brother?' he asked, and Tara found that question incredibly hard to answer.

  'He's - he's very Uke your grandmother, isn't he?' she ventured.

  'Is he?' He looked surprised at that. 'I know he's got the Hautain looks, dark and sultiy like Grand'mere wishes I was, but I wouldn't have said he was like her in anything else.'

  'Oh, but he is' Tara insisted. 'Hadn't you realized it? Why, he's every bit as - as autocratic as Madame Hautain, and very nearly as French.'

  'He's always kept up the French ancestiy bit,' Clifford admitted. 'But I can't say I'd ever thought of

  him as autocratic' He did not sound altogether happy with the idea and Tara wondered if she had been indiscreet in betraying her opinion of Philip Hautain quite so openly.

  'I wasn't meaning to be critical of him exactly,' she assured him. 'It's - it's just that he makes me nervous, somehow.'

  'Nervous?'

  She nodded. 'I don't know why,' she confessed. 'But he always seems to me to be - oh, I don't know, Cliff!' She laughed uneasily. 'I suppose I'm just wary of new people, that's all.'

  'You aren't usually nervous of meeting new people,' he argued. 'Why Philip?'

  She laughed again and shrugged, lifting the arm about her shoulders. 'I just don't know,' she told him. 'Except that he's—' She bit her lip and hastily shook her head, laughing off the rest of the sentence. It would never do to let Clifford know that she found his brother not only autocratic but disturbingly attractive as well.

  She was, in fact, beginning to wish that she had not been so rash as to commit herself to the entire summer at Fairwinds. She had refused in the first place, when Clifford had asked her to come home with him, but then they had become engaged, or more accurately drifted into a tentative kind of agreement that they would marry, and there had no longer been any reasonable grounds for her refusal. It was all a little vague, and she wore no ring, but it was what Clifford liked to refer to as an 'understanding', whatever that

  might mean.

  They had been at Fairwinds a little over a week, and they were at dinner one night when Philip raised the matter of the arrangements he had made for Clifford to join the family firm. It was a touchy subject, but instead of passing it over with some non-committal reply, as Tara hoped he would, Clifford stated quite categorically that he had no intention of joining the finn at all, in any capacity.

  Philip looked up hastily and stared at him for a moment, but it was Madame Hautain who voiced her surprise first, and her t
hin voice was resonant with indignation. 'You are saying that you do not wish to join Hautain and Sons?' she demanded, and Clifford kept his eyes downcast as he answered.

  'That's right, Grand'mere.'

  Philip, in his place at the head of the table, looked at him steadily, the fingers of one hand curved about the si nder stem of a wine glass, his dark features unfathomable. 'I presume you have given it a lot of thought,' he said quietly, and his black eyes flicked briefly in Tara's direction, leaving her in no doubt as to where he put the blame for his brother's decision.

  'Of course,' Clifford said.

  Philip raised his glass and sipped the contents slowly, while Tara marvelled at his self-control. It must have been quite a blow to him to have his well laid plans so abruptly shattered, but he made no angry accusations, or lost his temper. 'What else had you in mind?' he asked quietly, and again those dark eyes were directed at Tara.

  Clifford too glanced at her briefly before he answered. 'I want to do something I'm good at,' he said.

  'Oh?'

  Clifford looked up, his eyes defiant, although he was obviously half afraid of the reaction he would arouse. 'I want to be an artist,' he announced.

  Put like that it sounded rather naively school-boyish, and Tara was not altogether surprised to see Philip's wide mouth curve into a smile. 'Oh yes?' he said quietly. 'And what, or who, put that idea into your head?'

  His meaning was obvious, and Tara would have objected had Clifford not been there before her. He thrust out his chin and glared defiantly at his brother across the table. 'It had nothing to do with anyone but me,' he declared.

  'I see.' If only, Tara thought, he would not watch her with that steady, disturbing gaze. 'And is Tara also prepared to starve in a garret for the sake of your art?' he asked softly.

  Clifford was immediately on the defensive. 'You don't have to take that attitude,' he said. 'No one has to starve!'

  'Well, I hope you don't expect the firm to finance your artistic yearnings,' Philip told him, brutally blunt. 'Hautain and Sons was meant to be just what its title implies. The 'Sons' is plural, and you can't expect the privileges without doing some of the work.'