“Yes.” A shudder shook McIvor’s wasted frame.
“Are you all right? Clearly you’re in a lot of pain.” Curt half stood up.
“Maybe a drink of water.”
Curt poured it, assisting McIvor to drink. “I was thinking of a trust fund,” McIvor managed eventually when he was resting back on the pillows. “I want you to play a part in that. Trustee now your dad’s gone. I would have asked him.”
“Jock! Do you want to give Darcy another reason to resent me?” Curt groaned. “She can handle her own affairs.”
McIvor looked back with genuine scorn. “In my judgment it would be best if a man like you kept a careful eye on things.”
“There are good reliable responsible professionals who could do that.” Curt argued. “Your solicitors Maxwell & Maynard. You should be discussing this all important issue with them. I would have thought time was critical.”
McIvor frowned. “I wanted to talk to you first. No matter what you think of me—what I’ve done—and I admit I took every opportunity to cause trouble—I trust you. Besides you Berengers have more than enough money and property of your own. Maybe things between you and Darcy went sour but I’ll stake my life—what’s left of it—you’ll look out for her.”
Curt’s expression was not encouraging. “Why didn’t you discuss this with Adam Maynard when he was last here?”
McIvor beetled his brows. “He’s not a favourite of mine. He’s not one of us. You’re the man I trust. You’re a cattle man just like me and you’re familiar with the whole situation. Darcy needs you as an adviser, a man who can help her plan for the future. I don’t want to see all us McIvors have worked for go down the drain.”
“That I understand.” Curt nodded his agreement. “But let me get Darcy in here, Jock. You wanted my advice. That’s it. Get her in here. Don’t leave her in the dark. She’s not a child. She’s a responsible adult.”
McIvor pressed back against the pillows. “I can’t handle it,” he barked, looking pathetically ill. “Darcy being Darcy will launch into one of her little tirades. Don’t think she’s not above telling her own father off. I’m not saying she doesn’t have the business acumen to handle the McIvor fortune if it weren’t for the fact she’s a woman. You know as well as I do men stalk women with money.”
Curt knew better than most inheriting a fortune was a heavy responsibility. “So you figure setting up a family trust will protect Darcy and presumably Courtney?”
“Who’s probably a complete ninny like her mother and just as beautiful. There’ll be plenty of men around to exploit her. Mark my words! There’s marriage, divorce. These things happen. Hell, I should know. Some bloody con man could go off with my money. No wonder there are prenuptial agreements. It’s the only way to go.”
Curt forced himself to sound as calm as possible. “So Darcy and Courtney are the main beneficiaries?” He wondered if there weren’t somebody else in the woodwork given McIvor’s numerous liasons.
McIvor cleared his throat several times. “Yes,” he managed hoarsely.
“The trust administers the estate and apportions income to your daughters. You’d have to decide how much.”
“They’ll have enough!” McIvor muttered irritably.
“I think you should line up another couple of trustees,” Curt suggested.
“Okay, okay.” McIvor waved a withered hand. “I’m telling you Curt it’s the only way I’ll die happy. I need a man of impeccable reputation who has more than enough interests of his own to act as the main trustee and executor of my estate. I believe I’ve come up with the right man. You. And if you won’t do it I’ll have to get someone else,” he added with grim determination. “Someone who mightn’t always act in the best interests of the beneficiaries.”
That forced Curt to reconsider. McIvor’s expression told him he meant exactly what he said. “Jock, you’re putting a lot on me. Darcy won’t like this idea.”
“It’s not Darcy’s money!” McIvor glared, his voice suddenly strong. “Murraree belongs to me. If she wants to make trouble she mightn’t be named as a beneficiary at all. Now I’m tired,” he announced gruffly. “Get that dratted Ainsworth woman in here, will you? She’s plain, poor bitch. No woman should be as plain as that and she stinks of disinfectant. I don’t want to hurt Darcy but I won’t tolerate any stubbornness. Explain that to her.”
CHAPTER TWO
CURT left McIvor’s bedroom feeling like he was wading through quick sand. The nurse was hovering nearby and he lost no time telling her Mr. McIvor was in need of his medication. He then went in search of Darcy, finding her in the kitchen, washing a head of lettuce at the sink.
“Ham and salad okay?” she asked in a way that suggested her mind wasn’t on fixing lunch at all.
“Fine.” His voice too came out more clipped than he intended. “Make it a sandwich and a cup of coffee, Darcy. I have to talk to you.”
“Of course you do and from the expression on your face you know I won’t like it. Dad is selling Murraree to you. At the right price, of course.” Although she was joking Darcy’s golden skin had turned pale. Anything was possible with her father.
Curt gave a harsh laugh. He pulled out a chair and sat down. “That’d be one for the books!” The kitchen was enormous and very old-fashioned. Like the rest of the rambling old homestead it was badly in need of updating and refurbishing. For all his money McIvor was notoriously tight fisted. “Let’s make this clear. I don’t want Murraree, Darcy,” he said, aware of her loss of colour. “I have enough on my hands.”
She shook her gleaming head. “You wouldn’t knock it back if it came on the market?”
“I’m not getting into any hypothetical discussions. Come here and sit down.”
“I’ll make you a sandwich first. The coffee will only take a minute. I’ll put it on the stove.” For a few moments neither spoke as she worked quickly putting together a plate of ham and salad sandwiches. “So what did Dad suggest?” she asked finally, setting the plate before him along with a clean white linen napkin.
“This looks good,” he said, realizing he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since dawn. “You’re going to have something surely?” He looked up at her.
“I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“You can’t afford to. You’re downright skinny.” The expression in his green eyes changed, as they travelled over her.
Sometimes he slipped back into doing that so the blood raced through her veins. “Why do you do it, Curt?” she asked, thoroughly rattled.
“Call you skinny?” he half smiled.
“You know darn well. Look at me like that?”
He sat back, considering. “Well apart from being skinny you’re just beautiful even with a pigtail hanging down your back. I can’t remember the last time I saw your hair out.”
“You do too,” she reminded him shortly. “The last polo ball.”
“That’s right. Damn near a year ago. Sunset hosts it this time around. I remember you spent most of the night with Rob Erskine,” he referred to a member of his team who had always been painfully in love with Darcy and unbeknown to him had actually proposed to her.
“So I did.” She shrugged. “While you gave Beth Gilmour the best night of her life. Both of them now out of the picture.”
“Oh yeah?” he mocked. “I saw Beth only the other day.”
“Actually she’d make you a good