Unfaithful (55 page)

Maggie laughed. She could always rely on her baby brother to make her laugh. “You're crazy, you know that. So did they believe your act? Did you get the job?”

“Shona Morgan interviewed me. Apparently Rebecca was delayed, stuck in traffic or something. I had Shona eating out of my hand within minutes. She practically drooled all over me the entire way through the interview.”

“Please, spare me the
details,” Maggie groaned. “Did you get the job?”

“Oh, yeah, it's in the bag. Obviously she didn't tell me then and there, she said something about having to discuss it with her colleagues and that she'll be in touch within the next few days. But if I was a gambling man I'd bet a month's rent I've got the job and a date if I'm interested.”

“Adrian you are incorrigible! No fraternising with the clients; that's our number one rule.”

“Have you never heard of pillow talk, sister dear? It's amazing the secrets that are revealed after a night of passion.”

“Oh, please,” Maggie rolled her eyes. “This isn't a James Bond film. What's she like, this Shona Morgan?” She leaned back in her chair and settled in for a natter. Her brother certainly was an entertaining storyteller and never failed to amuse her with his wry observations.

“She's a cute little thing, gullible and naive, but sweet. I'm already looking forward to getting to know her better. I've got a feeling this could be one of our most interesting jobs.” They chatted about the case for a while before Adrian suddenly jumped to his feet.

“Is that the time?” he asked in his faux-English accent. “I must dash, dahling.”

“That was sudden. Where are you off to in such a rush?”

“Oh, you know, things to do, people to see, places to go,” he glanced pointedly at his watch. “Catch you later, sis.”

“Ok, 'bye,” and with that the whirlwind that was her brother was gone.

Maggie couldn't help smiling. She loved her baby brother dearly. They were a real team. She was more like a mother to him than a big sister. Their parents had died tragically in a car crash when she was twelve and Adrian was only two and they'd been in and out of foster homes for most of their childhood. Luckily, they'd always been fostered together so she could keep a close eye on her baby brother and the bond between them was rock solid.

As soon as she turned eighteen she became his legal guardian and she'd worked hard to give him the childhood she'd never had. She worked as a waitress when h
e was at school during the day, and studied online with the Open University to be a journalist after he went to bed at night. The mothers of some of his friends were happy to look after him if she had to work overtime or take exams. She liked to think that he had never wanted for anything. He knew she loved him dearly, and that was the most important thing in life to her. He'd gone off the rails a little at college but that was to be expected. He was passionate about art and photography and some of his photographs had sold for thousands. He'd made a lot of money in London but he was tired of the rat race and had decided to come home to Dublin. She was delighted to have her brother back home, and even more excited that they would be working together.

Maggie loved her job. She'd had an eventful career, to put it mildly. When her peers were graduating university and taking a year out to travel around Europe, she was intent on finding her first newspaper job. She dreamed of working for Fergus Kelly who, back when she
was starting out, was a celebrated journalist who had recently started his own newspaper, The Stand. He was six feet four with a shock of brown hair and a voice like a dinner gong. He reminded her of Liam Neeson and for years she had been in awe of him. At the time she was looking for her first newspaper job he was putting together an eccentric group of writers who would turn The Stand into Ireland's most beloved newspaper.

Maggie had decided that she wanted a job at The Stand and she knew she'd have to do something striking to set her apart from the many other applicants. Instead of scheduling a meeting, she walked to the offices of The Stand, slipped past Fergus' secretary and marched into his office! Fergus glanced up from his reading, expecting to see one of his reporters standing in front of him, not a fiery red-head on a mission. “Who the hell are you?” he bellowed at her.

“My name is Margaret Rowan, and I want a job,” she replied, confidently meeting his gaze.

“Interviews are scheduled with my secretary. You can make an appointment with her on your way out.”

“Mr. Kelly,” she replied. “You're interfering with my destiny.”

He laughed his loud belly-laugh then and sat up straighter in his chair, taking notice of the determined young woman who had barged into his office.

“You've got my attention, Ms. Rowan,” he said, intrigued. “Tell me, what does your destiny entail?”

“I want to be a newspaper reporter and I want to work for you. I don't care where I start as long as you give me a chance.”

Most of the people he'd interviewed had usually expected to be columnists immediately and he was impressed that Maggie had no such fancy notions. “Okay.  I'll give you a chance. You have a job.”

She rushed to her desk on her first day of work, eager to get stuck in, happy to introduce herself to everyone. One quality she had always had in abundance was confidence and it served her well in her new role. She started off covering mundane incidents but her way with words struck the editors and they began assigning her to cover breaking news. Some of her work even made the front page. She was a confident stylist for one so young and soon became known for her unconventional story angles. Once she was sent to report on a robbery and she began her account in the voice of an old storyteller: “Listen, my children, and you shall hear the tale of the boy who thought Dublin was ripe for a latter day Jesse James.”

Fergus thought the world of Maggie's writing. He often invited her to his home where the parties began at midnight and languidly spilled into the next week. He knew people in the theatre, the underworld, in government and high finance; they came to his house and forgot themselves. It was a whole new world to Maggie and gave her a valuable insight into another life. She and Fergus shared a mutual admiration and respect. He admired her feistiness and zest for life which is why he took her under his wing. She learned a lot from him and over the years they became close friends.

Journalism honed her skills at typing, researching, interviewing and writing. Her career had diversified into investigative journalism and it was there that she'd discovered
her natural talents for investigation. She enjoyed the unpredictability of it. Sometimes it was exciting and fast-paced, at other times slow and studious, but always rewarding. It suited her personality down to the ground. She was brilliant and aggressive when necessary, capable of working long hours and skilled at digging up facts. Fergus called her his “secret weapon”; no other publication had such a smart, diligent woman working for them who had a nose for finding crisp, scintillating facts. She loved uncovering information and getting to the truth behind a story. She'd always dreamed of starting her own business, so with a combination of savings and a generous investment from Fergus, Covert Eye Investigations was born.  Fergus was happy to remain a relatively silent partner. It was her baby in almost every sense of the word; she lived, breathed and slept her job.

Sitting in her office, Maggie delved through the many newspaper articles which had been devoted to Mark's case. The pulsating trial had gripped the nation with extraordinary revelations of his plot to kill; allegations of greed, the web search to find an assassin, the manufacture of the lethal poison ricin and its subsequent discovery in the assassin's prison cell. Mark's book was another source which she was using in her investigation and it provided invaluable information about him and the women, including their background and lifestyle. Her mind boggled at how a man like Mark had become entangled in such an unimaginable tale and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. She had many contacts throughout Ireland and knew that they would be able to provide her with their own unique insight into the story. She wasn't particularly enamoured by Mark but she had to admit that many aspects of the case didn't quite add up. The evidence stacked against him was overwhelming. It seemed that the police had made up their minds about his guilt almost from the start and were resolute to have him convicted. She'd discussed Mark's story in detail with Fergus and they both ag
reed that the case against him seemed a little too convenient.

Chapter 7

Fergus Kelly seemed to be a very interesting man and with his dark hair, sharp gaze and broad shoulders, he made a striking presence. Rather hard, but his face showed great strength and he could be quite lovable were one to get behind his mask.  Most of the female reporters were a little bit in love with him. They mothered him, bantered with him and flirted shamelessly with him but he paid no attention to any of them. The women who admired him discovered when they tried to edge closer, that they couldn't get through to him. They couldn't quite grasp his intentions or find access to his emotions.

He seemed wild, consumed by unknown passions, temperamental and prone to extremes. Most women felt more comfortable simply admiring him from afar. He was too obsessed with his newspaper and his stories until a beautiful brunette with a face like an angel came into his life. Her name was Sophie Corrigan and she was a graduate from Trinity College, Ireland's most prestigious university, where she'd studied journalism. She had a mop of unruly, wavy light brown hair, hazel eyes and a vivacious smile. Her beauty was natural; she had a clear complexion and never wore make-up. Carefree and creative, she wrote poetry and believed she had a talent for predicting the future through her dreams. She also shared Fergus' love for animals. She had no pretence about her. She was gentle, warm and sincere. She was popular, not because she made herself the centre of attention, but because she greeted everyone with a warm smile and a kind word. Despite her easygoing attitude, Sophie shared Fergus' passionate dislike for people who seemed puffed-up or fake and full of their own importance. She had a lively sense of humour and was attracted to brilliant, irreverent men and she certainly found all of those qualities in Fergus.

It didn't take long before Fergus and Sophie became seriously involved and they married within a year of meeting. Sadly, it wasn't meant to be; tragedy struck when Sophie died in childbirth, taking their baby daughter with her. Fergus was never the same again. Sophie had been his emotional ballast; unnoticed but ever present, who had kept his emotions stable and upright despite his manic lifestyle and consuming interest in his work. At times it seemed that he was trying to out-race the creeping feeling of melancholy that had begun to plague him since her death. He began to spend more and more time alone, wandering through the streets of Dublin, finding some sort of solace in watching the teeming rush of humanity about him. He threw himself into his work, which became like an obsession to him and provided a welcome distraction to the pain in his personal life.

After Sophie died, Fergus began to drink heavily. A few drinks helped him forget his troubles for a while. He would pour down one stiff drink after another, showing little effects. Narrowing his eyes and flexing his jaw muscles, he would sit in a corner glaring around. Later, it would turn out that he thought some woman particularly attractive, yet his liking would never be apparent at the time.

He wasn't a bad drunk. He didn't cause scenes or act cruelly toward others but considering how hard he worked, his friends considered his drinking reckless. They worried about his abusing his physique drinking much more than he needed, because he was very entertaining with much less. It was obvious that he was burning the candle at both ends.

In addition to his heavy drinking, Fergus routinely engaged in other habits that couldn't fail to take a toll on his health. Often he would go for long stretches without eating. When he finally stopped for a meal he would order double portions of everything, slice his food up hastily and devour it until he was full. He averaged five hours of sleep a night, considering seven hours to be a long rest. His body began to show the stress. His face, once chiselled, began to look bloated. His cheeks bulged, making his eyes appear hooded and squinty. He grew stocky; the result of too many unhealthy dinners and too many rounds of whiskey at night. He worked too hard. His nerves began to frazzle, or perhaps they had always been frazzled.

Gradually, Fergus became entangled in several flirtations with close friends. Many regarded him as a genius, and some seemed to love him. He toyed with some and acted awkwardly around others, always with the same result. The flirtation would wind down, replaced by a platonic friendship. He had a lost quality about him which engaged the sympathy of almost every woman he met. However, too much of the quality apparently prevented them from thinking about him seriously.

He could be unpredictably moody; showing up at parties and making randomly odd statements, as if attempting to cut off the possibility of conversation. Some women were beguiled by his eccentricities and wanted to get closer to this strange and mysterious man. He became known for dating a woman for a while, showering her with affection for a few weeks and then cutting her off completely and unexpectedly, leaving her shocked and wounded.