The Spin by Rebecca Lisle Page A

instant her face lit up and a dimple appeared in her left cheek. ‘Hello, you again. How are you getting on?’ She looked away shyly and dug her hands into the pockets of her apron. ‘How’s it going?’
    â€˜It’s fine. Great. I love it.’
    â€˜Good.’ She smiled and the dimple appeared again. ‘You’re brave. I’d hate it – not the spitfyres, but everything else . . . How about Al? He’s a good man, don’t be put off by his gloominess.’
    â€˜Cool. He’s cool. He sent me to bring this,’ Stormy said, lifting the cake up a little.
    â€˜Really? I thought you must just like carrying it about,’ Maud said with a giggle.
    Stormy reddened. ‘No, I –’
    â€˜Did you cook it?’
    â€˜Oh no, I couldn’t . . . well, I probably could because I do know how, but we’re not allowed to, down in Otto’s kitchen.’
    â€˜I see,’ Maud said sternly. ‘But do you know how to
eat
cake?’
    â€˜Of course I do. Oh . . .’
    She was teasing him and he couldn’t look at her. He let his gaze wander instead down the brightly lit corridor beyond. There were paintings on the red walls and glass chandeliers, mirrors and ornate gold tables. He’d never seen anything like it, or even dreamed such things could exist.
    â€˜Hey! Mind the cake!’ Maud held out her hands. ‘You’d better give that to me before you drop it.’
    But before Stormy could pass it to her, a girl strode down the corridor towards them. She moved with the force of a hot wind. Her eyes were cold. She was beautifully dressed in a yellow satin skirt and a white blouse. He felt his knees give a little; Araminta. The girl who’d crashed her spitfyre.
    She shoved Maud aside carelessly. ‘Who’s this? Who are you talking to, Maud?’
    â€˜He’s the new boy to help Al. He’s –’ Maud began.
    â€˜I think he can speak, can’t he?’ Araminta stared down at Stormy scornfully. She obviously did not recognise him at all. ‘You can speak, can’t you? Well, can’t you?’
    He was disappointed that she didn’t remember him, but it was also dawning on him that she wasn’t just a sky-rider, she was important. She lived in the Director’s house.
    â€˜I help in the servery, but really I’m to help the spitfyre keeper with the flying horses,’ he exaggerated. Why had he done that? She wasn’t interested in him anyway.
    â€˜What are you doing here, then?’
    â€˜Delivering Otto’s cake,’ he said, showing her the cake. ‘I’ve brought a cake. It’s a cake for the Director. It’s from Otto.’ Now he was talking rubbish.
    Araminta tossed her head so her long black plait flicked over her shoulder. She was staring at him with the same oddly disturbing look that Mrs Cathcart had given him when she had dressed him in his new work clothes – as if he was something tasty to eat. Or maybe she
did
remember him?
    â€˜Follow me. Bring the cake,’ she said.
    Stormy glanced nervously at Maud, sure he shouldn’t be going inside, but she had taken a duster from her apron pocket and was rubbing furiously at the brass fingerplate. He stepped into the hall.
    â€˜Don’t bring the cake! Give it to the maid!’
    He wished she’d make her mind up who was to bring what. Quickly he passed the cake to Maud and followed Araminta, entranced by the glossy rope of dark hair swinging from side to side across her back. The tiny fraction of her face he could see showed her skin was as smooth and pale as a porcelain doll.
    â€˜This is the Director’s study,’ Araminta said, leading him into a room. ‘You must never, never come in here.’
    Stormy began to back out.
    â€˜What are you doing? Come in!’ she snapped.
    He went in and stood beside a round table in the centre of the room. There were books on it, a decanter of