The Castle by Sophia Bennett Page A

mum, and I wanted to go home.
    A splash from below distracted me. Someone had dived into the swimming pool and was carving through the water like a professional athlete. His tan was emphasised by a small pair of red trunks. I watched him as he executed a perfect turn.
    Footsteps in the corridor.
    Stop admiring the swimmer, you IDIOT. Hide.
    There was a small pink silk-covered armchair in front of the window. I ducked behind it instinctively, still thinking about the boy in the pool. He looked about the right age to be one of Mr Wahool’s sons. Which son? The creepy one, Omar, with the honey voice – or the younger one, Max, my friend, the one person in this place who could help me?
    A moment later the bedroom door burst open and someone moved through it at speed. She raced up to the window, right beside where I was crouching, and yelled out:
    â€˜Max! Get out of the pool! Max! We’re back! Maxi!’
    It was Yasmin. Her brother obviously didn’t hear her, because she groaned in frustration. Then she moved back into the room and called out:
    â€˜Amina! Amina!’
    There was a pause. Someone must have arrived in the room, because Yasmin started giving out instructions.
    â€˜Find me a bikini. Three, so I can choose. And a kaftan. I’m off to the pool. God, it’s been tiring today.’ Yeah. Getting off a superyacht. Try doing it in a trunk, Yasmin. ‘I’m going to relax for a bit and then we’re having dinner on the boat, so Papa can show the boys. Find me something from Dior. There’s a blue dress I brought from Paris that should do. Oh God, I’m so tired. Where’s Omar?’
    She yawned loudly. A quiet voice muttered something about Omar going to see the Princess . Then the servant moved around, opening and closing drawers.
    The chair I was hiding behind was so small and inadequate it was almost funny. If they weren’t so busy finding bikinis, they would spot me in an instant. But I was too busy thinking about what Yasmin had just said to be properly terrified thistime. Meanwhile, she changed quickly and soon the room was empty again.
    Alone, undiscovered, I breathed in the scented air. In that one shouted sentence through the window, Yasmin had changed everything for me.
    It was Max in the pool.
    I’d found Max! He must have called me from this castle. And where the boy was, the prisoner was. I’d accidentally ended up in the perfect place.
    Dad, I’m here , I whispered. I’m coming. Wait for me.

SEVENTEEN
    I t took me five minutes to find Max’s room, dashing across the corridor in the eerie silence, heart racing. There were four bedrooms on this corridor – all of them enormous – but only one of them had an almost life-size photograph opposite the door of a dark-haired boy on a polo pony smiling to camera, with a caption saying Max Wahool underneath.
    OK, so he wasn’t exactly shy, but if you look that good on a polo pony, life-size photos must be tempting.
    The rest of the room was the opposite of Yasmin’s. This one was pure boy, apart from the fact that it was insanely tidy. It had everything Luke could possibly have wanted – two huge TV screens, a stack of gaming equipment and a walk-inwardrobe full of (I checked) immaculate polo shirts and designer jeans. There was also a vast double bed, a futuristic leather armchair that swivelled, five electric guitars on stands, and a punch bag hanging from the ceiling near the window. So he could punch something while he admired the view. Kind of weird. Presumably it kept him fit, though. Which he was, from what I’d seen in the pool just now. Very.
    It was the swivel chair that attracted my attention – much more promising than the fancy little armchair I’d crouched behind in Yasmin’s room. This one had a deep leather seat and a broad back, wide enough to hide a polo pony from view. I shoved my backpack under the bed, dashed across to the chair and sank down