CHAPTER 5
Doctor Malcolm Davidson stood by the bedside of David Bradley. At the age of fifty-six, he was ten years the senior of Paul Trent, though in appearance they looked almost the same age. This wasn’t because Trent had aged considerably, more that Davidson had kept himself in good physical trim all of his life, and the man didn’t look a day over forty-five. Perhaps that was why many of the nurses on the wards at Ashford General had something akin to a schoolgirl crush on the Head of the Department of Chest and Respiratory Diseases.
Now though, he, like Trent and the two nurses gathered at David’s bedside in the isolation ward was swathed in a shapeless green gown and he wore a surgical mask to protect him from…from what? He had been intrigued by Doctor Trent’s request, passed via h
