Unfaithful (51 page)

Mark’s actions created havoc and heartbreak for Rebecca too. She gave him her heart but only got evil deceit in return. They built a good life together and shared a lavish lifestyle but he threw it all back in her face. Not in her wildest dreams did she ever believe that her husband was capable of plotting anything so sinister. She could hardly comprehend how he had openly discussed various methods of killing her and the other two women. However, their lives came in the way of his needs and his obsession with money. The language he used in email after email made it seem as though it was just a job, another business deal, but one that involved three lives.

All this grief brought on by an evil man, who felt he had nothing to lose but everything to gain. Yet, in the face of being found out he continued to lie his way out, presenting a story ab
out being blackmailed by Henry Whitington-Smyth. It became obvious that Henry was nothing more than a figment of Mark's wicked imagination. Why did he not just get a divorce and walk away from it all? No, Mark was gripped by greed and revenge. He wanted his old, prestigious life back and was prepared to stop at nothing to get it.

His ambition went too far and led to devastating consequences. His selfishness, thoughtlessness and lack of compassion for anyone but
himself destroyed everything. Right up until the very end he firmly believed he was invincible but the bitter truth was eventually revealed in harrowing detail. For now, Mark McNamara is paying the price of his actions, but will it be the last we see of him or just the beginning?

Web of Deceit

The third book in The Unfaithful Series

By Joanne Clancy

Discover books by Joanne Clancy:

Unforgettable Embrace

The Wedding Day

My Love

The Secrets & Lies Trilogy
:

Secrets & Lies, Book 1

Aftermath, Book 2

Redemption, Book 3

The Unfaithful Series
:

Unfaithfully Yours, Book 1

Revenge, Book 2

Web of Deceit, Book 3

Click here to purchase Joanne Clancy’s books

Prologue

Mark McNamara rose early in the morning, dodging the throng of paparazzi who had been ca
mped outside his apartment since his release from prison the previous week. He walked briskly towards the picturesque glens, past the spiritual surrounds of the abbey and soon left the hustle and bustle of the city far below. Eventually, he reached a quiet park bench where he sat for a while to survey the magnificent views in front of him. A cluster of red-bricked buildings crowned the gentle hill which sloped down to the lake beyond. Behind the lake was a low mountain and on the other side more hills rolled away in pillows of soft red and green.

He appeared confident and in good spirits. As his shoulders relaxed, he took in the pretty scene before him and savoured his first real breath of freedom. A second chance, a fresh start; the smile on his face said it all. Until recently he had been hiding away in a small city centre hostel, except for the few trips he
had chanced to the supermarket, hidden behind an oversized overcoat, dark sunglasses, and a baseball cap pulled low.

Wearing tailored trousers, a blue shirt which was open at the neck and his dark hair grown longer than he usually wore it, he looked a world away from the ashen-faced man who went on trial for conspiracy to murder three women.

The few passers-by, who were playing pitch and putt and enjoying bike rides through the glens, didn't recognise the handsome stranger as he took the time to unwind on the bright autumn day. Anyone observing him would have found it difficult to believe that he was an ex-convict; guilty of conspiring to murder three women, one of whom was his wife. It was five years later and he still continued to deny any knowledge of the conspiracy and always vehemently protested his innocence.

When approached by reporters for a
comment, he became uneasy and shook his head before quickly walking away. He was determined to start going about the regular mundane tasks of his daily life and he hoped that the media would not intrude too much; at least not until he was ready to invite them into his life. Prison life had taught him a lot. He’d formed some strong relationships and gained a new perspective. He was planning to reveal everything about the evil web of deceit in which he had unwittingly become entangled, but timing was everything and Mark was prepared to wait for the perfect moment. Prison life had taught him patience and the value of biding his time and he was prepared to wait.

As the day drew to a close, Mark left the wide open space behind and slowly made his way home. Looking slightly more downbeat than when he had earlier enjoyed the freedom of the rolling countryside, he travelled to the dreary confines of the local police station where he had to sign on once a week in keeping with his early release terms. However, that would end in a few short months and then his life could begin again.

Mark had been convicted and sentenced to six years in prison and his early release had immediately led to much speculation and conjecture as to his whereabouts and intentions. The endless intrigue surrounding him was rekindled as word got out that he was free. None of this was any surprise, given the interest that his case and its eclectic cocktail of ingredients had generated. He hadn't had an opportunity to speak to the media since his incarceration but he was eagerly anticipating his moment in the limelight and his revelation of the truth behind the tangled web of lies in which he claimed to have been unwittingly trapped.

Chapter 1

“This is explosive reading, no doubt about it,” Fergus Kelly proclaimed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. He was a muscular man, with a barrel chest and a defined, square jaw, who looked more like an athlete than a newspaper mogul. He stood six feet four inches tall with a thick shock of dark curly hair framing his intense face and grey-green eyes that twinkled when he laughed. “We’re here for a good time, not a long time,” was his mantra in life and he had certainly lived fast all the way.

By the age of twenty five he was an award-winning journalist for his fearless, front-line coverage. By the age of thirty he was editor-in-chief of the top newspaper in Ireland. By the age of thirty five he owned his own newspaper and had made his first million. He had a brilliant mind and a passion for a story and so his newspaper, The Stand, was launched. Everyone predicted failure in such a saturated market but within a few short years The Stand was growing faster than any of its competitors.

Fergus was a creative businessman and a gifted editor with a sixth sense for a story. A rebel, yet a compromiser, a sober leader and a writer with a rapier wit, he struck a precarious balance in the world of newspaper journalism that elevated him to rare celebrity status. During his long, intense periods of productivity he could spout off one idea after the next, some fantastic, others original and eminently feasible.

He told the news just the way he saw it; as an elaborately grand spectacle, hooking readers on the stories, selling them its importance by sprinkling the facts with colour and detail and by painting vivid portraits of the people who made the headlines. The way he told a story, they weren’t just staid unknown characters, they were living, breathing, flawed people, just like everyone else. He was a master storyteller with a uniquely entertaining writing style. His burgeoning national newspaper acquired a grip on the public’s imagination and an unprecedented power, the likes of which had never been seen before.

He had lived fast all the way and was renowned for his outrageous parties which mixed politicians and top businessmen with call-girls. All the while, he had his ear out for the next big story and the next sensational headline. Most weekends would find him at The Grafton, his local pub, where he usually had a cigar in one hand and a beer in the other. He loved nothing more than to slap backs and guffaw with friends and acquaintances. Striding down the streets of Dublin's O'Connell Street, he would call out names and crack jokes, always greeted by a chorus of “hellos” from the many people who barely knew him but considered themselves great friends of his.

He always seemed to be in a hurry; rushing about with his coat collar turned up, chewing gum, chain-smoking and constantly attached to his mobile phone. When he talked, it seemed as if he shouted. When he liked a joke, his raucous laugh shot through the room as if fired from a machine gun. He was a free-spirited soul who loved to work as much as he loved to play. Fiercely competitive, he was also somewhat eccentric and delighted in skirting the rules.

From early childhood he’d shown a love for language and a photographic memory that would later serve him well as a journalist and editor. He spoke his first words when he was ten months old and shocked his parents by reciting nursery rhymes at the age of two! His mother quickly recognised his interest in words and began reading extensively to him. He devoured the stories and poems which she read and was soon memorising entire passages.

Before the age of four he was writing; gripping his pencil with two hands and labouring determinedly over each letter. At his desk in his bedroom, which he kept meticulously clean, he began to write short stories which his mother bound together as a book and he would read aloud to entertain his younger brothers and sisters.

Fergus’ twin obsessions; statistics and personalities combined with his ability to recount true stories before a crowd would remain the chief characteristics of his work. He was known for thinking quickly and expressing himself with a unique punch and agility; a style of thought which sparkled through his stories which were held together by a raucous sense of humour and a pungent bite. He wrote the way he spoke; in confident, colourful bursts, employing detail cannily. His love for chasing a story infused his paper with energy.

He was a bright-eyed enthusiast. Ideas came easily to him and he presented his thoughts sharply, renowned for speaking the truth and telling it like it was. He growled and shouted when something or someone disagreed with him but it was all part of who he was; an intense persona who swept people up within his orbit and filled them with his magic. People either loved or hated him, there was no in-between with Fergus Kelly and most people loved him.

“Is there any truth to your story?” Fergus settled his penetrating gaze on Mark.

“Every word is true,” Mark smiled broadly, revelling in his new role as a writer. “Now all we need to do is prove it.” He sat back and watched the reaction of the man sitting opposite him.

“Proving it could take some doing,” Fergus arched a thick eyebrow. “But, as the saying goes “there are no problems, only solutions”.”

“Which is precisely why I came to you,” Mark nodded. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Fergus laughed heartily. “All good, I hope.”

“Of course,” Mark replied promptly. “Everyone who is anyone knows that you have the best nose for a story and I need the best to help prove my innocence.”

“Why not go to the police?”

“I trusted the legal system once before and look where that got me. This time I’ll take the unconventional route.”

“I'm sure we’ll get to the bottom of it, one way or another. I have some contacts in the police force and I think they should be happy to do a few favours for me. I’ve read through your book and I must admit there seems to be some gaping holes in the evidence.” He studied Mark carefully. Already he didn’t like him. He had seen straight through his arrogant act within minutes of meeting him, but he had to grudgingly admit that the man could write well.  He was a sucker for a good story and Mark’s book was a hell of a yarn, if nothing else.  He’d been glued to the drama from the very first page but he’d come across some deluded characters throughout the course of his career and he wondered how much of Mark’s story was truth and how much was fiction. It never failed to amaze him how so many people could convince themselves of their own lies; if they repeated their version of events often enough, somehow it became true. He wondered if Mark was one such character.

Chapter 2

Mark turned the key in the lock of his new town house. His divor
ce from Rebecca was finally settled and he’d done well from it. A few short weeks after the papers were signed he’d moved to the pretty house which was situated on the picturesque Joyce's Avenue. It was a narrow, tree-lined road which climbed from the docks. It wasn’t a showy house but its dimensions were certainly luxurious for a man living on his own and it overlooked a garden whose flowering fruit trees and colourful blossoms were a delight in the last warm days of an Indian summer.