An Enchanting Despot by Peter Harrison

… Extract from script …

Zoë: That was lovely, Rose. Really delicious.

Rose:  Not my idea, I’m afraid. Mrs. Elliot cut it out.  From a  magazine.  And it seemed to work. Shall I serve the pudding now? Or would you like to wait? 

Zoë: Rose?

Rose: Yes? 

Zoë:  Mrs. Elliot is hurt because you don’t read her books. 

Rose: Is she now? 

Zoë: She thinks you think Andrew’s books are … worthier.

Patrick:  Oh come on Zoë. 

Zoë: What?

Patrick: Stop stirring things. 

Zoë: I’m not stirring things. We are having a literary discussion. 

Sally:  She is right, though, isn’t she  Rose?  

Rose:  She is. 

Zoë: And you’re not a bit offended, are you, darling? 

Sally:  People always know instinctively when I’m offended, Zoë. As you well know. 

Andrew: I really don’t think it’s fair to … ah… put Rose on the spot like this. 

Patrick: Exactly. 

Andrew:  I mean look at my sales.  It’s obvious lots of people can’t stand my stuff. 

Rose: That’s hardly the point, though, is it?  

 ( Pause. ) 

Sally: It isn’t?

Zoë:  ( Innocently ) What is the point, Rose? 

Patrick: ( Warningly ) Zoë. Behave. 

Rose:  Well, since you ask, the point is that Mr. Elliot, believes in his writing. 

Zoë: And Sally’s writing?

Rose: Nobody believes in it. Especially not Mrs. Elliot, I suspect. 

Sally: I really feel I ought to issue a public warning here. To the effect that I could not be described as one of those who welcomes criticism. 

Patrick: Look, can we please change the subject?

Rose: I think perhaps  I’d better just get on with serving the pudding. I’m putting my foot in it, here. Again. 

Zoë:  Absolutely not. Come on, Rose. Why are Andrew’s books better than Sally’s? 

( Pause.)          

Rose:  In my opinion, if you can write, you’re someone special.  I used to think, I could. And then I  realised the truth. I knew what good writing was. But I couldn’t do it. Mrs. Elliot can write. There is no doubt about that. 

Zoë: There you are, darling. 

Sally:  I had the vague feeling that was a compliment but now I’m not sure.

Zoë:  (Innocently) Oh, do go on, Rose. This is very interesting. 

Rose:  You have to understand, I’m not just picking on Mrs. Elliot.  It’s she and all the other writers who are producing these beach books.  These chick-lit sagas. They are just not … real. If you ask me writing clever rubbish is worse than not being able to write at all. 

Zoë:  (  To Sally ) Oh, dear, darling.