Peggy followed him around the side of the inn, down a little path fringed with fir trees. In a small clearing, well away from the kitchen noises issuing from the rear of the inn, Peggy saw a tiny, two-story building. There was a roofed-over patio outside with two sofas, some chairs, and a table on which stood a hot plate and stacked cups and saucers. Peggy smiled to herself, recognizing the sure sign of an actors’ residence—coffee, coffee, and more coffee.
Rita Stevens came bursting out of the door, a radiant smile transforming her rather plain features. “Margaret, ‘Peggy’ Lane—Star of Stage, Screen, Radio, Television, and Summer Stock! Welcome!” she cried, running up and giving Peggy a hug.
They grinned at each other happily. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Rita bubbled. “I’ve been positively frantic for some female company around here. We’ve been up for three days and Gus has spent every single minute at the theater—”
Rita was married to Gus Stevens, the scene designer—a lucky combination for the company. Although young, Rita had one of those ageless faces and a maturity which made her a perfect character woman. Peggy had liked her the instant they met at the readings in New York.
“No women?” Peggy asked, “Hasn’t Alison Lord arrived yet?”
“Oh, no, my deah,” Rita intoned in a stagy accent. “No, our leading lady is being flown up in someone’s private plane and isn’t expected until tomorrow morning.” She waved a hand airily, imitating perfectly a prima donna.
“Oh, no!” Michael grimaced in disgust. “Is she really like that?”
“No, Mike,” Peggy said with a laugh, “she’s really quite friendly and nice—and a very good actress. Just a little theatrical, but I’m sure you’ll like her.”
“Well, I hope so,” Michael said, obviously still doubtful. “Look, I’ve got to scoot back to the theater. May I leave your things here, Peggy?”
“Oh, I’ll take them, Mike.” Rita grabbed some of Peggy’s luggage and started up the stairs of the little house. “See you later, Mike.”