The Perfect Daughter by Gillian Linscott

I’d noticed Yellow Boater was when Bill and I left the student house.
    Max said: ‘It might not be Special Branch.’
    â€˜Who else would be that stupid?’
    â€˜Have you heard of something called MO5?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜It hasn’t been going long. War Office department, supposed to be spying on the spies. Then there’s the SSB.’
    â€˜Must we talk in initials?’
    â€˜Secret Service Bureau. Probably War Office as well, but they work with Scotland Yard’s Special Branch sometimes.’
    I was going to ask how Max knew about them, but decided not to.
    â€˜What are they for?’
    â€˜Tracking German spies, anarchists, saboteurs, Sinn Feiners. Also other dangerous elements like trade unionists and Labour MPs.’
    â€˜Seriously?’
    â€˜Ask Keir Hardie next time you see him.’
    â€˜And you think they’re being used against us now?’
    He took his eyes off the chess games and looked at me.
    â€˜No, I don’t. You people should come under Special Branch. If MO5 or the SSB are really taking an interest in you personally, that’s for something else.’
    â€˜For heaven’s sake, what else could there be?’
    â€˜Contacts with Germany?’
    â€˜I’m a translator , Max. It’s what I do. Do they think witches and wood sprites are some kind of code, for goodness sake?’
    I must have raised my voice because one of the chess players looked round. He had dark greasy hair down to his collar, a drooping moustache, face yellowish from cigarettes.
    Max smiled. ‘It might not be a bad one.’
    â€˜You can’t seriously think…’
    â€˜No, of course I don’t. But it’s a question of what they think.’
    â€˜They can’t be investigating all the people in London who know German on the off-chance they might be spies.’
    â€˜No, so if it is MO5, they think they have some other reason to suspect you. You genuinely can’t remember anything except those art students?’
    â€˜No. Surely they’re not under observation?’
    â€˜From what you say, I shouldn’t have thought so. I agree with you, they don’t sound worth the trouble. And yet…’ His eyes were back on the chess players, but most of his mind wasn’t. Max was worried. ‘This cousin of yours…’
    â€˜Cousin’s daughter.’
    â€˜You say her father’s a commodore. Would she have talked about that?’
    I started saying I didn’t know Verona well enough to have any idea what she’d talk about, then I saw where he was heading.
    â€˜You mean, somebody might have taken up with her because…?’
    â€˜I’m trying to make sense of this. There’s this naive young woman, by your account, on her own in London, probably thrilled to be among more exotic people than she’d meet down in Devon. Supposing somebody noticed her and thought she might be a useful source of information.’
    â€˜Rizzo?’
    â€˜Or somebody else using him. His friend told you he’s a count. Suppose he has powerful friends back in Budapest?’
    â€˜Max, this is worse than the Daily Mail. It’s pure spy fantasy.’
    â€˜Yes. But just because there are spy fantasies, it doesn’t mean there aren’t such people as spies.’
    â€˜You’re trying to tell me that Verona was taken up by a spy ring?’
    â€˜No, I’m not. I’m trying to see why the secret service people are taking an interest in you – if they are. It’s like trying to get into your opponent’s mind when you’re playing chess. Look at it from the opposition’s point of view.’ I tried and didn’t like it.
    Max said, looking across the room, ‘It’s a pity we can’t ask him what he thinks.’ He was staring at the long greasy hair of the chess player who’d turned to look at us.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜He’s one of them.