Dangerous Encounters

Chapter 3 Ruth and her proteges confront, and a suicide is saved.

The wind roared from the North Sea unchecked by the lowland flatness from Mablethorpe, across Louth, Market Rasen and Gainsborough, and threw cold sleet and raggy wet leaves from last Autumn against the portacabin window on a mad mid-March Monday morning. 

The wind chill was extreme, and the men assembling the complex three dimensional web of steel reinforcement in the octagonal hole thirty five metres across and two deep, could only take it for an hour at a time. 

"We could do with Spring weather," said Steve, "we're falling behind." 

"Better we make some progress than none. You couldn't ask the men to do more in these conditions. Force the pace and we'll have a go slow, or worse, an accident on our hands. Keep the hot drinks coming for them, and don't moan. When the weather improves we can always put in some night shifts." 

I wrapped up warm and walked around our little world. We had put up the wire mesh perimeter fence with its unforgiving anti-vandal top and this made a four hundred metre square. In the middle was our octagonal pit with the steel mesh partly filling it. At the site entrance were our cabins, now five in number. The foundations for the control building were done. There was another two month's work on this part of the contract, but I had no worries. The US Army would occupy the building on time, with its technicians. 

The site radio squawked. Steve said, "Boss we have a problem. Could you come to the site entrance, please." 

I arrived to find an articulated truck carrying long rods of steel reinforcement, its big engine ticking over, with what appeared to be a dead body in front of its wheels. "Oh hell," I said, kneeling down, "How did this happen?" 

"I just lay down in front of the truck and it stopped," said Ruth sitting up. 

"Bloody hell, woman, don't frighten me that way." 

"You? Graham? This is your site?" 

"The same. Let the truck go, Ruth. You can't harm the project at this stage. You're just going to be a minor irritant. Come and have some coffee - you look frozen." 

"Oh, alright, it's not the weather for this sort of thing really." 

I helped her up, and waved the truck on. 

We went into the cabin."Truce," I said, as we walked into the office, "No tampering with the papers or the computers?" 

"Truce," she said. 

The office was warm. Ruth shrugged off her thick duffel coat and scarf. Underneath she wore a bulky natural wool-colour sweater, jeans tucked into heavy socks, and hiking boots. Her long black hair was unpinned. She shook it free. 

"You look thinner," I said. 

"We can't get unemployment benefit now. We live on handouts. It's not easy." 

I made coffee in the little kitchen. I also put bread into the toaster. The warming and appetising smell filled the air. I spread butter onto the toast and set it on a plate before her, and sat opposite her across the narrow table. 

"Oh God, that's good," she said biting with small white regular teeth on the second slice, a little tear of warm butter running down one side of her mouth. 

Instinctively I wiped it away with a finger. 

Her golden eyes looked at me deep and straight for the first time that day, and she held my hand, "That's my butter," she said with a sensuous smile and licked my finger. 

Suddenly over two years of walled up emotions broke through. I got up quickly and stood at the sink looking through blurring tears at the blank wall of the next cabin.