Bernadette had been pacing the glass walled office. For a long period she didn't say anything. It was as though she was pondering. It was as though she was trying to formulate her words. Her office suite must have covered most of the 43^rd floor of the building. On three sides she had views over the capital. Her heels made that noise, that click click noise. And that was the kind of noise that set pulses racing. It would set some pulses racing more than other though. She stopped, looking out over the Thames. And then kind of span round on her heels. Her tone was almost 'cruel' as she delivered the words,

"I don't think you realise how much effort it takes to look this good. And yet I have to make do with substandard staff. Is it any wonder I put you through what I put you through? It's for your own good."

The words were shocking. In that setting, in that environment they were even more shocking. This was an empowered woman. A woman with power and she was addressing a younger woman. A pretty woman. Even if she was carrying a little more weight than she needed to, she was still pretty. Bernadette's comments were the kind of comments that would cut into the psyche of anyone. Especially another woman who might have been conscious about her appearance. About her weight for instance. This woman wouldn't have used the kind of words she used by accident. This was a woman who was used to speaking in public. Used to maybe making speeches in her line of work. She didn't use words lightly. She was the kind of woman who knew about words and the context in which they were used. And she had accompanied the words with a stance, a way of standing that accentuated her own Amazonian appearance. Those incredible legs parted tightly against the dress she was wearing. Those feet so arched and yet so poised. So elegant in a way. One hand on her curvy hip. Shoulders thrust back, weaponry in the form of massive breasts threatening to spill from the dress. And a look of disdain on her face that would frighten probably even the most rabid of animals.

The thing was, this other woman, this subordinate to Bernadette was standing with her fingers clasped behind her back. In the small of her back. And she was topless. Completely topless. No bra - no blouse. Just topless. Her breasts were large, but they were sagging a little bit. This woman was not at an age that everything headed south. Rather with a little work, with some exercise and with some dietary work she could and would look stunning. In a lot of ways it begged the question, why? Why had she let herself go like she had? Why would she do that? Especially in a city or a part of the city where the beautiful people lived and worked. Why oh why. But more bizarre - more crazy - more disturbing was the sight of this poor woman standing topless. Not just standing topless on the 43^rd floor but being dressed down by the Amazonian known as Bernadette. This woman looked down. She was looking down at the floor. She could have been looking down there because she was not permitted to bring her eyes up. Or she could have been looking down, a sign of her humiliation.

"I'm sorry Miss. I'm sorry I am not up to Your standards. That I fall a long way short of everything that you are. I am sorry Miss. I wake up sorry. I go to sleep sorry. Sorry for the disappointment that I am to You."

This topless woman spoke with like a tiny voice. But it was the words that she spoke that were the most cutting. The most 'sad'. This was a woman with self-esteem issues. That much was clear. But these were self-esteem issues that had been imposed upon her. Not so much suggested to her, but injected into her psyche. This was a scene on the 43^rd floor of this high tech building that was turning bad by the second. It was turning bad and it was turning nasty. There was just something about this interaction that made the skin crawl. It made the flesh creep. There was something about this interaction, this relationship between the two that was not right. That wasn't right on several levels. There was a hint of bullying. This tall, busty woman something like six feet five in her heels, towering over this other woman with self-esteem issues and practically destroying her with words alone. But there was more even to it than that.

"That's right, you most certainly are NOT up to MY standards in any way shape or form. As a woman you are a disgrace. And if I ever thought you had ideas above your station..."

Bernadette let the words hang. Let the threat hang without finishing it. And she turned on her heels again to look out of the floor to ceiling windows. Once again she adopted an accentuating pose. One that emphasised her ultra-femininity. Those words would keep going through anyone's mind. 'Now there is one good looking woman. Scary but good.' But also the words that she used with ease to bring this other woman almost to tears. Bernadette didn't speak angrily. Or she didn't seethe through perfectly white, gritted teeth. Rather she spoke coolly, and calmly as though she were addressing any number of mundane everyday things. She spoke almost like she was lecturing this poor woman. And that was the chilling thing about it. The words she spoke were nasty - chilling words. And yet they were spoken by this woman in a way that was natural, every day.

She turned to one of the glass walls and reached out and pressed. The wall seemed to open up. A door. A door to a hidden storage area. One of her slender, perfect arms slid into the opening and then back out again. And she was holding a long, brilliant white curved cane. It was white and it was curved because it had been fashioned out of whale bone. The purest white that tapered to a comfortably thick, to a string thin whip like end. There was a noise. At first that noise was out of place up there on the 43^rd floor. But then it made sense. Like a penny dropping moment. The noise was the topless woman whimpering. Not whimpering at all actually. More like sobbing. Like a gentle sobbing.