look at Constance Tremayne, seated to the right of the Chairman, Philip Enright. Philip might as well not have been there, Kathleen decided. They all knew who was really in charge of the Nightingale.
‘Matron, you do make it sound so frivolous,’ Constance Tremayne observed. She was dressed for battle in a stiff tweed suit, her hair scraped back in its usual tight bun which drew her skin taut across her cheekbones, making it difficult for her to smile. Not that she ever did.
‘Isn’t it?’ Kathleen said coldly.
‘Of course it isn’t. The annual Founder’s Day celebration is a big event for the Nightingale Hospital. And as this year is our fiftieth anniversary, we wanted to make it even more special. All we’ve done is make a temporary allocation in the budget to cover expenses. I think we all agree that is reasonable?’
She looked around the table. No one spoke.
‘Mrs Tremayne is right,’ Gerald Munroe said finally. ‘The Nightingale Hospital is a very important aspect of the lives of the people in this area. It’s our duty to allow everyone to celebrate it.’
Kathleen stared at him. She might have known he’d vote for anything that involved him getting his face in the newspapers yet again.
‘And exactly how many people from this area will we be inviting to celebrate?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘I take it we’ll be throwing the gates open to everyone?’
There was some coughing and shuffling of feet around the table. ‘Of course we will have to restrict the guest list to local dignitaries, senior staff and their families,’ Mrs Tremayne said.
Of course, Kathleen thought. Constance Tremayne wouldn’t want any East End riff-raff at her grand garden party.
‘It will be a very prestigious event,’ she added.
‘I see. And while you’re enjoying this prestigious event of yours, our patients will be sleeping on thin sheets which the nurses are having to patch and mend constantly.’
‘You didn’t seem to mind spending money on the Christmas dance?’ Mrs Tremayne reminded her.
‘The Christmas dance cost next to nothing compared to this extravaganza you’re planning.’
All eyes turned to Constance Tremayne.
‘Then the nursing staff will just have to practise economy.’
Blood sang in Kathleen’s ears. ‘My staff are hardly spendthrift, Mrs Tremayne,’ she bit out. ‘They waste nothing. Dressings are boiled and re-used until they fall apart, everything that can be used again is kept and cleaned and mended. Go and ask any of the sisters here. They will tell you. And while you’re at it, perhaps you’d like to explain to them why you feel it necessary to spend this hospital’s money on champagne and canapés while they have no clean sheets to put on the patients’ beds? See if they understand this fur coat and no knickers approach of yours, because I certainly don’t!’
Mr Cooper gave a muffled snort of laughter from across the table. Mrs Tremayne turned white-faced with shock.
‘Did she say knickers?’ Lady Fenella asked, baffled.
‘Perhaps we should move to a vote?’ Philip Enright suggested quickly.
‘I think even Mrs Tremayne was lost for words in there!’ James Cooper fell into step beside Kathleen as she made her way back to her office ten minutes later. ‘You have a very lively turn of phrase, Matron. Very . . . vivid, shall we say?’
‘I didn’t intend to be vivid,’ Kathleen snapped back. Usually she enjoyed the few moments of banter she had with Mr Cooper as they left the Trustees meeting, but this morning she wasn’t in the mood. ‘I merely wanted everyone to see how perfectly ridiculous they were being. How on earth can they call this a prestigious hospital when our linen cupboards are empty? Can’t they see the irony?’
‘I don’t think irony is Mrs Tremayne’s strong point.’ James Cooper pulled a wry face. ‘Look, you did your best,’ he said. ‘You can’t expect to win every fight.’
‘But I should have won this one!’ She swung round to face him. ‘This was important. My nurses were relying on me to argue their case for them.’
‘And you did. Admirably.’
‘I still failed though, didn’t I?’
‘There is one consolation.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’m sure you’ll get an invitation to the party.’
Kathleen’s mouth tightened. ‘I can’t wait.’
There was a student waiting outside her office with a broken thermometer. Under normal circumstances, Kathleen would have put it down to an accident and given her a small fine to cover the cost. But this time she harangued her about carelessness and waste until she was hoarse and the poor girl was close to tears.
She was mindlessly shuffling papers on her desk, still trying