Joyce stared at him, speechless.
‘Well, he knows more than anyone except me, that is,’ Charlie muttered.
‘You?’ Joyce found her voice. ‘You have been involved in the arms business all these years, surreptitiously sending defence materials to war zones? You of all people?’
Charlie nodded.
‘So, those lunches and boys’ days out with my father when you were at Exeter, was that when it all began?’ Joyce continued. ‘Were you so seduced by the glamour of it that you changed from the committed communist I knew, the wild young man of principals, into, into... my father’s poodle? Or was it the money? Were the pickings Dad offered rich enough to corrupt you?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ protested Charlie.
‘So it wasn’t the money, is that what you’re telling me? The glamour, then? Excitement? Did you fancy yourself as some sort of James Bond?’
Charlie shook his head.
‘It wasn’t the money. Certainly not at first. Though that did come later, I suppose. And no, I didn’t see myself as a James Bond figure. As for my communist leanings, that was nostalgia more than anything. The Karl Marx dream was already dead, and far more people were suffering because of communism than benefiting from it. Your father said I was old-fashioned and out of touch. If I wanted to change the world then I should consider entering his world. He didn’t say so straight away, not in so many words. But that was what it amounted to. And he was so persuasive.
‘He told me stuff back then that nearly blew my mind. Tanner-Max had been involved in almost all the anti-communist uprisings: Poland... Hungary... Those were popular uprisings, he said. He told me that his father and your Uncle Max had been every bit as idealistic as I was, and they had gained the power to change things. He swore they only ever became involved in arms deals for causes they thought were just.
‘I was bowled over, Joyce. And I believed your father absolutely. You know how plausible he is. It was a long time before I realized he had only one motive...’
Charlie paused for dramatic effect.
‘Money,’ he said, spitting out the word. ‘Money. That’s all your bloody father has believed in for a long time. Probably all he has ever believed in. Your grandfather may have been different. Your Uncle Max almost certainly was. He had real ideals. And a cause: Israel. But your father? Nothing but a mercenary.’
‘Yet you carried on working with him, and not once did you voice any doubts or fears, not a word of any of this to me,’ said Joyce. ‘To your poor bloody ignorant wife.’
She spoke quietly, thinking aloud.
‘I was sucked in.’ Charlie sounded desperate for her to accept his version of events. ‘Please, try to understand,’ he pleaded. ‘You’re his daughter. Once we had the house, and then the children came, what else could I do? Plus I knew everything. I knew it all by then. Henry wouldn’t have let me go, even if I’d tried...’
‘What do you think he would have done, for God’s sake, taken out a contract on you? Had you shot?’
As she spoke, the grim reality of that day, the memory of the hospital visit she and her daughter had been about to make when they’d received Fred’s message, hit her. So much else had happened, she’d half forgotten. Crazy as it sounded, maybe there was some truth in what Charlie was saying.
‘As a matter of fact, I thought that was exactly what was going on,’ she heard Charlie say.
His voice was so strained. For a moment she wanted to reach out to him. Then she remembered what he had done.
She put her head in her hands. ‘Charlie, you don’t know, do you?’
‘Know what?’
‘Dad has been shot. He’s going to be all right. But he’s in hospital.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Charlie.
The remaining colour left his face. He didn’t ask any more questions. She had a nasty feeling he already had the answers.
‘Charlie, what changed for you?’ Joyce asked. ‘What made you decide you couldn’t take it any more? Tell me honestly, what made you stage your own death? What happened? What changed? And why that? Why do that?’
‘Well, I became more and more disillusioned, and more and more afraid for our children.’ Charlie gulped in a big breath of air, then continued: ‘I found out Henry was dealing in chemical weapons. Or at least, we were shipping out the chemicals used for making those weapons. To Iran, and worst of all to Syria. It’s more than likely our chemicals have been used in the barrel bombs Assad has been using. Chlorine to make chlorine gas. It’s reckoned twenty thousand Syrians may have died from attacks with chemical-laden barrel bombs since the conflict began there in 2011. That was too much for me to take in.
‘Chemical warfare is banned by international law, so I threatened to go to the authorities. But ultimately I let Henry talk me round. Like always. You see, Henry Tanner reckons he is above the law. And maybe he is.’
Joyce was horrified. ‘I don’t believe my father would do that. I don’t believe he would be involved in something so terrible. In any case, why? How?’
‘I’ve told you why,’ snapped Charlie. ‘Money. And power. As for how, well, the Tanner-Max set-up is geared to transport illicit material around the world, and the pathways are smoothed by those in high places who pull Henry’s strings.’
‘Who are these people?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Only Henry had direct contact. Secret Services, the Foreign Office? Bit of both, probably.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Joyce. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s all too far-fetched.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ said Charlie. ‘Believe what you like. But that’s the business your father has been in for all of his working life, and me too. I couldn’t stand it any longer. And I couldn’t bear to watch Mark being sucked in. My life — and you might well be right, my entire bloody sanity — has been blighted by the sheer crazy awfulness of what our company, our own family company, does. What it is. I can’t believe I allowed myself to get involved in the first place. If it hadn’t been for how much I loved you, well...’
‘Are you daring to blame me? It’s my fault, is it?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. But I couldn’t watch history repeating itself with Mark, I couldn’t do it any longer. And as for Fred...’
‘How much does Mark know?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe not much. He is aware that the company is involved in some security activities overseas. Not the exact nature. Not yet. He only deals with paperwork, and everything is camouflaged. That’s the name of the game. What we are all such experts at. But I could see Mark’s future looming, his grandfather talking him into believing he was doing something worthwhile. Working towards world peace, probably. The way he convinced me. Except now I knew what Mark’s life would be like: shrouded in mystery, fear of some kind or other always lurking. I should have done something to stop it, but now I’m afraid it’s already too late for Mark. He is so much in the clutches of his grandfather. I couldn’t watch any longer. I really couldn’t.
‘But I could still save Fred, provided I could get him away from your father. Away from all of it. That’s why I wrote you that letter. I waited and waited, but you made no move to get away. That’s when I decided I’d have to do something...’
Joyce thought he sounded lame, pathetic. She also felt, deep inside, that he still wasn’t telling her the truth. Not the whole truth anyway. That there was something else. And how had he known that she’d made no move to get away? Had he been watching the house? After dark, perhaps. She said nothing. She didn’t want to do or say anything that might stop him talking.