They were a mixed bunch, to say the least. Reginald Collins, a timid little accountant, scribbled figures on the blotter in front of him, while local MP Gerald Munroe examined his fingernails and the aged Lady Fenella Brake snoozed quietly. On the opposite side of the table sat Malcolm Eaton, the newest member of the Board, a fresh-faced young lawyer. Next to him was Matron, a distant expression on her face. But it was to the lady at the far end of the table that David addressed his remarks. Whatever anyone else said, everyone knew it was Mrs Constance Tremayne who really made all the decisions for the Nightingale Hospital Board of Trustees. He cleared his throat and met her steely gaze. ‘Last Christmas Eve we experienced an emergency in the Casualty department,’ he said. ‘A local church hall caught fire, and we had to deal with the victims. More than fifty people were brought in that night, some slightly injured, others fatally.’ He looked around the table.
What do You think about A Nightingale Christmas Wish?
