Arthur Prescott 1

“If Eleanor knew that you were here, she would raise hell…” the old man smiled as he leaned back in his ornate, mahogany chair, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of the antique chandelier hanging above. His slender fingers, adorned with heavy gold rings, clasped together over a monogrammed handkerchief.

His weathered face turned away from the steam of the tea in front of them, turning