“So you’re not in any financial straits?” Farrell asked.
Elis might not have been a fan of social etiquette, but even he knew it was rude to discuss money over the dinner table. He glanced at Latham who bore it with his usual mask of stoic indifference. “Not at all.”
It was a lie and an obvious lie if one simply glanced at the near empty, old house. Even Farrell quirked one of his bushy eyebrows, but he didn’t say anything, merely slurped at the soup with an incredulous look. Elis and Latham followed suit; an awkward silence filled with nothing but the soft clangs of metal against porcelain fell over the table.
The urge to smoke, which Latham had for the most part successfully distracted Elis from in a number of amusing ways, niggled at Elis anew.
“In fact,” Latham said, “my financial
