Powerstone (5 page)

Surrounded on three sides by a
high white wall, the courtyard was filled with the patter of the fountain that
acted as centrepiece to a formal garden. While bronze mermaids disported with
dolphins around an oval pool of clear water, shaded bowers sheltered carved
wooden seats, and winding paths joined at an inner doorway that led into the
main castle. Three towers soared to the empty sky, dominating yet not
threatening any occupants of the courtyard garden.

Irene stared around her, she had
been wrong; this place was no
Nottingham
,
rather it came from some Persian pleasure palace.

Halting the King Ranch in one of
the seven parking bays, the driver opened the door for Irene. She eased herself
out, wondering what surprise next awaited her. Her period of uncertainty was
brief.

‘Five minutes early, I see.’
Dressed in hip-hugging blue jeans and a check shirt, Ms Manning had pulled the
peak of her green baseball cap low over her eyes. She looked relaxed, but had
not lost her aura of easy authority as she held out her hand. ‘Come in, Irene.
Welcome to Mannadu. Perhaps not Xanadu, but we do our best.’

Irene hesitated only a second
before accepting the hand, and was immediately aware of Ms Manning’s close scrutiny.

‘Well done, Irene. It must have
been hard to come here after yesterday’s rejection.’

Irene forced a smile. ‘Why have
you brought me?’

‘Come with me and I’ll show you.’

Feeling like the fly accepting the
invitation of a very predatory spider, Irene followed.

Mannadu and
New York
, October

The inner doorway opened into a
great hallway with an echoing marble floor and tall Ionic pillars that
descended from a domed ceiling. It should have looked formal, but instead was
relaxingly cool, with a smaller version of the outer fountain playing in the
centre. An arched doorway led to a smaller hall, from where half a dozen exits
invited investigation. Ms Manning chose the most central, leading Irene into an
oval room with polished oak panelled walls and an ornately corniced ceiling.

Irene breathed deeply of the scent
of fresh coffee.

‘You’ll be hungry,’ Ms Manning
gestured to one of the two chairs that were arranged around a circular table.
The green-and-gold rims of the plates seemed to peep furtively from under a
pile of food. ‘Eat.’

There was a half-inch thick steak
that could only have originated in Iowa, potatoes that melted in Irene’s mouth,
enough coffee to float a small fleet and bread so fresh it must have come
straight from the oven.

‘Good.’ Ms Manning joined her,
matching her bite for bite and swallow for swallow. ‘I like to see a woman with
an appetite. I’ve no time for those half people who live on grass and water.
Food is for eating, and exercise removes the excess. Don’t you agree?’

Until that moment, Irene had never
considered the question. She looked up, suddenly aware that she was alone in
the company of one of the richest people in the world, the same woman who had
callously discarded her the previous evening. She patted her lips with a napkin
of crisp linen and repeated, ‘why have you brought me here?’

‘To speak with you,’ Ms Manning
told her. ‘Are you tired?’

Irene shook her head.

‘Good. Walk with me then.’ Ms
Manning was upright on the last word and strode from the room, with Irene
following like a small dog.

‘You would have been surprised at
my invitation, after my decision of last night.’ Ms Manning allowed Irene to
walk at her side as they strode along a long corridor, their feet sinking into
a deep pile carpet. Wall lights gleamed on polished oak, with doors inset at
regular intervals.

‘I was,’ Irene agreed. ‘I had
expected to be on the streets today.’

‘You may yet be,’ Ms Manning
warned, ‘but only if you fail me.’

Irene hesitated. ‘I thought that I
had already done that. You chose Kendrick.’

‘He was a worthy winner,’ Ms
Manning’s voice contained neither sympathy nor understanding. ‘But remember on
what terms.’ When she looked upward into Irene’s face and raised her eyebrows, Irene
involuntarily flinched. Ms Manning always used that expression as a rebuke to
point out something that should have been obvious. She continued before Irene
had time to think. ‘How did you feel when I announced that choice?’

Irene’s answer was spontaneous.
‘Sick. I thought that your decision sucked.’

Ms Manning stopped and looked
upward again. ‘Point one: I appreciate your honesty. Point two: when dealing
with business matters; you will drop the teenage slang. This is the Manning
Corporation and we work and speak in a professional manner. Point three: that
is precisely the reaction that I hoped you would have. If you had shown a lack
of concern, I would have terminated this meeting immediately. Follow.’ Pushing
open an arched door, Ms Manning watched as Irene stepped forward.

Irene stopped in astonishment.
They had entered a room of gleaming marble, with an oval swimming pool
stretching before them. Sculptures from classical antiquity guarded the edge of
the pool, with Achilles admiring Poseidon’s trident while Hercules flaunted his
muscles to a bow wielding Apollo.

‘You look surprised,’ Ms Manning
said.

‘A little,’ Irene tried to hide
her astonishment.

‘Why?’ Ms Manning stepped toward
the nearest sculpture, a white marble David with the face of an angel and the
body of an athlete. She touched its gleaming arm. ‘It is no secret that I am a
connoisseur of the arts; the Manning Corporation contributes millions of
dollars to museums throughout the
United States
, so why should I not have my own collection?’ She smiled
and stepped away. ‘These are originals, created by the finest contemporary
sculptors in the world. I like to admire them as I swim. Join me.’ It was as
much a command as any business order, but Irene could not hide her surprise
when Ms Manning peeled off her clothes and stepped naked into the pool. ‘Come
on, Irene, or do you have something to hide from me?’

The question was mocking, but Ms
Manning’s eyes were acute.

‘I think you know all there is to
know about me,’ Irene told her. Very aware of the intensity of that gaze, she
fumbled over her buttons, determined to show no emotion as she kicked off the
last skimpy vestige of her underclothing. She looked straight into Ms Manning’s
face, smiled brightly and descended seven steps into water that lapped warmly
around her waist.

‘Well done,’ Ms Manning approved.
‘That took as much courage as appearing before the cameras. And more trust.
Good. Another point though; I know a lot about you, but not everything. Not
yet. There is one important factor left that I will find out today. Now follow
me, but don’t drink the water.’

Diving beneath the surface, Ms
Manning propelled herself forward to the opposite end of the pool, with Irene
keeping pace with her. They surfaced together, with their hair plastered onto
their heads and faces streaming. ‘Do you like my sculptures?’

Irene again surveyed the array of
marble figures. ‘Very nice,’ she approved. ‘You have a fine collection of naked
men.’

‘And so obedient,’ Ms Manning’s
grin was suddenly child like. ‘Just like men should be, don’t you think?’

Irene laughed and was about to
agree when she saw the raised eyebrow. ‘Perhaps all men should be obedient,’
she said, thinking rapidly, ‘when they are your employees.’

‘Exactly,’ the eyebrow fell. Ms
Manning dipped below the surface again and powered back along the pool. She
surfaced in a small explosion of water and shook the excess from her hair. ‘And
when he is not an employee? What sort of man would you seek in a partner,
Irene? What sort of man is Patrick McKim?’

Irene had anticipated the
question. She wondered if Ms Manning had chosen Kendrick because he was married
to a supportive wife, while she had enjoyed a succession of partners of whom
Patrick was only the latest. ‘Rough and ready, a bit wayward with no dress
sense, but I like him and he is loyal.’

‘How loyal, Irene?’ The stare was
as intense as Irene had ever seen it. ‘Would he be loyal enough to remain at
your side if you climbed higher than he could ever dream? And how much do you
like him? Do you like him enough to drag him with you? Or would you discard him
and fly alone? It’s a tough life at the top, Irene, and sometimes there is no
place for a partner.’

‘Kendrick has a wife,’ Irene
responded, ‘but you chose him.’

‘That’s better!’ Ms Manning nodded.
She stood up straight so her small breasts just broke the surface of the water.
Irene knew that she was forty-three years old, yet she had the body of somebody
fifteen years younger, with clear skin and fine muscular definition. Her
midriff was free of excess fat, while her hips flared elegantly from a trim
waist. ‘Tell me what you really think, Irene, not what you believe I want to
hear.’ She stepped closer, leaning back with her eyes firmly on Irene’s face.
‘You’re on the streets anyway, so you’ve nothing to lose. We’re alone here,
Irene, woman to woman with no witnesses and nothing at all between us.’ Her
smile was as mischievous as any teenager’s but as unrelenting as time,
‘literally.’

Irene allowed her frustration to take
control. ‘I think that you chose wrong, Ms Manning. You chose the man who had
started with every advantage, the man who was cushioned by wealth, rather than
choosing me, who had to fight for everything.’

Ms Manning held up a hand. ‘So
fight, Irene. Have you given up so easily? As I have already said, remember on
what terms I accepted Kendrick?’

‘You said that I was on the
streets and he was the neophyte for a provisional period of one year.’ Irene
glared into Ms Manning’s eyes, no longer conscious of their social standing or
their nakedness, determined only to put her anger across.

‘Exactly.’ Ms Manning nodded
calmly. ‘He has one year to foul up, and you have one year in which to prove
yourself.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Irene’s
anger dissipated immediately. ‘Do you mean that I still have a chance to become
your neophyte?’

‘Why do you think I brought you
here?’ Ms Manning raised her eyebrows again. ‘Kendrick was the obvious 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.’