Dante wasn’t that person yet. Would he ever be?
Time would tell.
The bus took him to a quaint village on the outskirts of vast moorland. Dante got off and studied the map in his employment pack. It marked out the forest paths that led to Wilburn Manor. Steep hills and stiles. It was another world away from the one he’d come from, but this one he didn’t mind. He’d come to learn that being outside suited him. Sun, wind, rain. Mud and dirt. He liked the smell and feel of it on his skin. Being dirty made him clean.
He set off through a low wooden gate and followed the path into dense woodland. The trail was well walked and easy to follow. Bluebells blanketed any ground not filled with trees or carpeted by moss, and the voice of the prison wellness coordinator echoed in his head, reading from the book on mindfulness she’d handed to every inmate corralled into taking her class.
“Knowing what triggers negative habits isn’t enough. Take note of what makes you happy too, so you don’t forget when it matters.”
Dante stopped and snapped a picture of the mass of spring flowers with his phone. Then he laughed, the sound alien in the solitude of the forest. Or, actually, anywhere. What did it mean to laugh? For years, it had been the cruellest thing. An action without humour or happiness for anything except the pain he’d caused someone else. It’s the little things that set you free.
The forest eventually thinned out, revealing the stately home at the top of a hill. Dante followed the path that hugged the road leading to the sweeping driveway and checked the time. His appointment with the grounds manager was at midday—he was early. And hungry. Prison breakfast seemed a lifetime ago.
At the top of the hill, he queued at the gate to get into the grounds of Wilburn Manor and showed his appointment letter to the girl in the kiosk box.
She eyed him with interest. “You work here?”
“Maybe.” Dante stared beyond her to the huge house and sweeping lawns. “If I make a good impression.”
“You will.”
Dante forced himself to look at the girl. Her gaze was wide and innocent, her smile flirtatious and cute. The old Dante would’ve latched onto it, twisting and turning before she could blink, luring her in until she was so dazzled by whatever she saw in him she’d do whatever he wanted. But he’d worked hard to be someone else, perhaps not a better man, but different.
He found a bland grin from the pit of his stomach, muttered his thanks, and walked through the gate.
The grounds manager was waiting for him outside his office. “The prison called and said you were on your way. I figured you’d be early unless you missed the bus. Do you have your ID and paperwork?”
Dante nodded and handed it over, tilting his head slightly to read the name on the pretty young man’s badge. Benjamin Heath. The man’s pressed shirt and corduroy trousers marked him out as no one Dante would’ve crossed paths with in his old life. Say something nice. “Sorry if I inconvenienced you. I can wait until midday if you need me to.”
Benjamin’s gaze flickered over Dante, taking him in from head to toe, dissecting him so obviously Dante’s skin crawled. “It’s fine,” he said. “I have time now. Come inside.”
He waved Dante through an ornate door that led to a room with a high ceiling and huge bay windows. Soft sunlight bounced off the white walls, and Dante blinked a little. The rooms he was used to either had caged vents for windows or none at all. And even before, he’d spent most of his adult life in the dark.
“Sit down.” Benjamin pointed at a wing-backed chair. “This won’t take long. Then I can show you around before I pass you over to Sid.”
“Sid?”
“Our head gardener. You’ll be helping him this summer, when he’ll let you.”
Dante studied Benjamin’s cordial, professional smile and its newfound tightness at the sides. “He doesn’t want help,” he guessed, though he already knew the answer. It was his special skill, to balance instinct and assumption. Fen had tried to call it empathy, but Dante knew better. He didn’t care how—
Stop.
“It’s a complicated situation.” Benjamin tapped at his computer. “But he knows you’re coming, which is something.”
Is it? Dante evaluated Benjamin again. He was close to Sid. Loved him even. Maybe they were related and Sid was a Heath too.
“Anyway,” Benjamin said when Dante failed to fill the silence between them. “He asked me to direct you to the orchard when we’re done here, which is close to your accommodation, so after we go through a few things, I’ll show you the way.”
Going through a few things turned out to be a long list of rules and policies centred around Benjamin’s assumption that Dante was a drug addict. “No illegal substances are allowed on-site, and no smoking while the grounds are open to the public, not even outside your accommodation. After hours we can turn a blind eye to a discreet joint here and there, but that’s our hard limit, and it’s not for your benefit.”
“Okay,” Dante said. “How big is the garden?”
Benjamin named a square footage that meant nothing to Dante. City life and then the confines of a cell had left him with little concept of space. Why did you ask then?
“It goes without saying that you’re on probation,” Benjamin said suddenly. “In the employment sense of the word, as well as the conditions of your release.”
Dante kept his expression neutral and nodded for the hundredth time that day. “That’s fair.”
“We’ll be watching you.” Benjamin’s gaze flickered to the security camera outside his open door. “Even when you think we’re not.”
“Noted,” Dante said dryly.
“Good. And bear in mind you might have to manage without Sid some days, so you’ll need to get acquainted early on with what’s expected of you. Are you ready to see your accommodation, or do you have more questions?”
“I’m ready.”
Benjamin nodded and rose.
Dante did the same and shouldered his bag.
Benjamin glanced at it. “Is that all you have?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t bring any kitchen supplies with you?”
“No.”
“Okay . . . well, you don’t have to worry about breakfast and lunch during the week, but you’ll have to feed yourself in the evenings. Do you have money to buy groceries? If not, we can—”
“I have money.”
Suspicion flickered in Benjamin’s gaze before he schooled his features. Dante could’ve showed him the discharge grant burning a hole in his pocket, but . . . no. Let the man think he’d robbed an old lady on his way here. Let him keep the scenario that made him the saviour and Dante the villain.
You are the villain.
Dante followed Benjamin out of the office and into the morning sun.
Benjamin pointed to the grand manor house. “Most of the exhibits and education resources are inside, but I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you not to use the main house. It’s trust policy that all staff that come into close contact with minors pass a DBS check.”
Dante nodded.
Benjamin waited a beat, then walked on, highlighting more landmarks that had nothing to do with why Dante was there until they came to a cluster of outbuildings and bungalows. “That’s yours,” he said, gesturing to the last in a row of three. “And the staff kitchen is in the barn over there, behind the greenhouses. Breakfast is served at seven, and lunch is at one, and your working day is eight till five, unless Sid says otherwise.”