The Stepson by Martin Armstrong

surely as if a body had lain stretched at her feet on the parlour floor. But of this inward tragedy little was visible to outward view: a gleam of pain in her grey-green eyes, a tiny flickering of lines on the pale forehead between the black brows; nothing more. Next moment she had controlled herself and had stretched out her right hand and felt a large, strong hand close over it, and for the first time she raised her eyes to his face.
    It was a round, boyish face, and despite his firm handshake Kate could see that he was shy, as shy as herself, for he was blushing.
    â€˜Well,’ said Ben, who was watching the pair of them with an eager shine in his glassy blue eyes,‘what about him, Kate? Is he anything like what you thought he’d be?’
    Kate glanced again at David. ‘Well,’ she said, smiling, ‘about twice the size.’
    David laughed.
    â€˜You see,’ Kate explained to him, ‘the latest photograph I’ve seen of you is that one taken … was it four years ago?’
    â€˜Five! Five years ago!’ said Ben. ‘And five years at his time of life makes a big difference.’
    The dinner was already on the table and they took their seats, Ben sitting in his usual place at the head of the table and Kate and David on either side of him. As David settled into his chair Kate noticed again that slight awkwardness of movement, the attractive awkwardness of a young colt that has not yet grown accustomed to its great body and limbs. They sat in silence while Ben sharpened the carving-knife, drawing it in long, shrill strokes across the steel. Kate was glad even of that brief interval in which to collect herself; for the sudden readjustment which had been forced upon her mind by this confrontation of the David of her dream with the so different David of actual fact had produced in her a strange sense of unreality. But already she was beginning to feel that he was not so formidable as in her bewilderment she had at first supposed. She raised her eyes. He was sitting with his arms spread upon the table and one hand laid upon the other,watching his father carve the beef, so that Kate was free to study his face more closely. It was a charming face, round and small and of that ruddy colour which comes of perfect health and an outdoor life. The cheeks were freckled under the eyes and on either side of the nose, and the corners of the mouth and the ends of the long auburn eyebrows were curled slightly upwards, giving him, as he abstractedly watched his father, a look half surprised, half contemplative. The lowered eyelids more than half covered his eyes, so that Kate could not see their colour. Yes, after all, he was still no more than a great child.
    â€˜Not hungry at all, I suppose? Eh?’ said old Ben as he carved the joint with quick efficient movements.
    Immediately the young man awoke and a delightful animation broke out over his face. ‘Well,’ he said, glancing across at Kate and smiling half-sheepishly, ‘I dare say I might be able to manage a bit. I’ve been travelling, you see,’ he continued, speaking now to Kate, ‘since eight o’clock this morning.”
    Ben handed a well-filled plate to Kate, who added potatoes and yellow spring cabbage from the dishes in front of her and then handed it over to David.
    â€˜You start!’ she said. ‘Don’t wait for us.’
    David took up his knife and fork and concentrated his attention on the food before him.
    At that moment Mrs. Jobson came in. A platewas in her hand, and on it the large plum-cake which had been made for David’s arrival. She set it down in front of him and stood watching. David’s eyes left his plate and fastened themselves upon the cake. Then he turned, abruptly like his father, and glanced at Mrs. Jobson.
    â€˜Is it a plum-cake?’ he asked.
    â€˜It is!’ said Mrs. Jobson.
    He reached out a large hand and clapped her on the shoulder, as though he were