THE LEGACY
MARTIN LOCOCK
CHARLES, white-haired, 60s, defeated look, sits at the
dining room table amid the remains of breakfast. He’s still in dressing gown. On the table is a newspaper and opened
letters, mostly junk mail. He sips coffee, hears footsteps.
CHARLES
Jean, love?
JEAN, also 60s, small and sharp, walks down the
hallway. She sets her face for his usual
tedious and helpless questioning.
JEAN
Coming!
She pauses at the mirror to check her hair. She’s not to be hurried. She goes to the door, opens it, and enters
the dining room.
JEAN
Not dressed yet
then. I want to be at the doctor’s by 10
so you better put a shift on.
She glances at the letters on the table.
JEAN
More of the usual?
CHARLES holds up a letter.
CHARLES
Mostly, but, there’s
this. It’s from the solicitor. Needs to see me. Something about the Trust.
JEAN
What a bore! I’m sure
they only write letters to rack up their fees.
CHARLES
Not this time. An heir’s come forward, disputing the
settlement.
JEAN
There goes the cruise
then. I never really thought we’d be
rich.
CHARLES
It might just take a
while to sort out.
JEAN
And we have all the
time in the world, don’t we?
JEAN storms out and slams door.
