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choice
on the show. He has all the attributes that society expects from a successful
corporate businessman. He has the education, the background, and the commercial
experience. He has an attractive wife and a smart suit. He had to win on
the day, but Irene, remember that I also lacked Kendrick’s advantages. I had no
elevator to reach the top. I had to claw my way up, as do you; it takes a long
ladder to stretch from a trailer to the topmost tower of Mannadu !’
    Ms Manning’s eyes drifted from
Irene’s face to the sculptured male bodies standing in magnificent compliance
around the pool. ‘Kendrick will make an excellent employee, but I want a
leader, not a follower. Kendrick is a man who obeys the rules, but I have had
to make my own rules, and so will my replacement.’
    Ducking beneath the water for the
third time, Ms Manning swam back to the far side, with Irene following, her
mind racing with new ideas.
    They surfaced together, with Ms
Manning looking quizzically at Irene. ‘Now that I have you thinking, Irene, you
can come with me. This way.’
    The changing room opened from the side
of the pool, with gentle towels, warm air and surprisingly inexpensive plastic
combs. There was silk underwear to slide on beneath crisp cotton jeans and tee
shirts, while soft-soled slippers fitted Irene’s feet. ‘That water was
disinfected,’ Ms Manning said quietly, ‘and these clothes are sterile. You will
note that they are natural white, with no artificial colouring. You will only
wear them once, and then they will be discarded.’
    ‘Why?’ Irene luxuriated in the
sensation of silk against her body. Her mind was buzzing with the possibility
that she could still be Ms Manning’s neophyte.
    ‘You’ll see. Follow.’ Although Ms
Manning’s grin contained pure mischief, there was an uncharacteristic shadow of
doubt in her eyes as she scanned Irene. As if coming to a difficult decision,
she nodded, pressed a hidden button and a section of the wall eased open. Ms
Manning stepped through the door into a long, high ceilinged room. The floor
was of polished wood, while hidden lighting cast a subdued, nearly natural glow
on a row of paintings that stretched some fifty metres to the opposite wall.
    ‘The temperature is automatically
adjusted and controlled,’ Ms Manning spoke reverently, as if in religious awe,
‘so that no possible damage can come to the exhibits.’ She touched her white
top. ‘Now you understand the antiseptic bath and the sterile clothing? We are
as clean as possible and this is a germ-free environment. Look…’ Ms Manning’s
voice rose slightly as she pointed to the first work of art, an impressionist
depiction of a curved wooden bridge, its reflection caught in limpid waters
overhung by the branches of a tree. ‘That is Claude Monet’s Garden . It’s
one of his later works.’
    As she obviously waited for a
reaction, Irene shook her head. ‘Is it genuine?’
    ‘Of course,’ there was pride in Ms
Manning’s smile. ‘Everything is genuine.’ She swept her hand in an arc that
indicated every picture that hung on the wall.
    ‘It’s magnificent,’ Irene said.
    ‘It is,’ Ms Manning agreed
happily. ‘And so are the others.’ Again the hand gestured toward her
collection.’ Salvador Dali, Vincent Van Gogh, Picasso, Andy Warhol, Fransisco
de Goya, Paul Cézanne, and the British ones, John Constable, William Turner,
Alexander Nasmyth, Henry Raeburn, Horatio McCulloch.’
    Ms Manning repeated each name with
veneration, pronouncing every syllable as she pointed to a painting. She walked
slowly along the walls of the gallery, pausing before selected pictures as she
highlighted the style and history of the artist.
    ‘You see, Irene, I do not believe
that business is only about personal financial security. It is not only about
providing employment for tens of thousands and ensuring the prosperity of the
nation. It is certainly not about power and the trappings of wealth. This is
the real joy of