Staring up the large, magnificant building infront of him, Tom Branson was suddenly hit with a bout of anxiety and the notion of 'What have I gotten myself into?'. He was half tempted to run back to the station, get on the tube and then swim the sea back home to Ireland. But no, instead he sucked up all his fears and walked across the busy London street, noticing as he did so that it seemed only cars over £50,000 seemed to drive around this area. Only when he reached the bottom of the purple carpet covering white marble stairs did Tom wonder whether he was even allowed in the front doors. Looking around he noticed men in designer suits and beautiful women gliding in expensive heels in and out of the main ornate, golden doorway and realised that although he may be just a boy from Ireland, it didn't mean he meant less to the world than anyone else. So, once again taking a deep breath,he raced up the stairs and up to the doorway. Here, a young blonde doorman in a fine black uniform reached out to open the door for him.

"Welcome to The Downton Hotel, Sir."

Feeling most embarassed at having a door held open for him and being mistaken for someone who could even afford a brick of this builiding, Tom turned to the doorman checking his name badge as he did so. "Thank you...William?"

The doorman seemed surprised at being adressed so, but gave a polite nod of the head and closed the door behind him. The noise cut out by the huge door was instant. No longer did the sounds of roaring cars and the hum of London streets consume Tom. It was now replaced by the wonderful sounds of an old gramophone in the far corner of the hotel entrance hall. Staring around Tom felt more out of his depth than ever. The entire hall must have cost more money than had ever passed his hands in a lifetime. Also, the beautiful people Tom had seen entering the hotel looked so naturally at home conversing and laughing with one another before strutting to theirs rooms that he suddenly felt very self conscious of his worn grey suit.

"Branson, I assume?" came the sound of a deep authorative voice.

Tom spun round quickly and came face to face with a rather aged man in a pristine black suit and a silk purple tie. It was clear at once this was a man in charge and when Tom chanced a glance he saw his name badge titled Mr. Carson, Hotel Manager. "Yes, it is."

Tom couldn't help notice how Mr. Carson gave him the once over before instructing him to follow him across the hall and into one of the beautiful golden lifts on the far wall of the lobby. Tom noticed that instead of asking one of the uniformed men by the lifts to push a floor number, Mr. Carson pressed a card to a shining metal square under the figures. Noticing his curious look Mr. Carson spoke "Please enter the lift and I shall explain to you how things run around here. It's quite a way to the top so we should have - Thomas I assume you are heading straight for the dining room and not dilly dalling around my lobby! - plently of time."

Tom glanced around at the black haired man Mr. Carson yelled at, who had gave him a sour look and stormed off, then walked into the golden lift, complete with a leather sofa and water cooler and waited for Mr. Carson to join him.

"Now, I assume you are here as the new chauffeur?" Without waiting for a reply he continued. "In your chauffeur role you will not be working for the hotel but for the Crawley family themselves. I assume you know all about the Crawley family however I will remind you just the same. The Crawley forefathers have been in posession of this 5 star hotel for over 100 years. Currently the hotel is owned by Lord Robert Crawley, world reknowned business man and his wife, ex-hollywood actress Cora Crawley. They also have three daughters, Miss Mary, Miss Edith and Miss Sybil. Although I'm sure you know all about the Crawley sisters?"

Tom nodded in agreement and allowed his mind to wander to how he couldn't know them. The Crawley sisters were the three most famous socialites in London. Their hotel heiress status meant they were often spread over every paper and magazine that any celebrity follower could get their hands on. Although Tom wasn't bothered about celebritys in any way, especially three young airheads with nothing but money and good looks on their side, his younger sister was a follower of the stars and had told him a fair bit about the Crawley sisters...

Mary was often modelling for one magazine or another and had been voted the most eligiable bachelorette in england just a few days ago. Although he was sure his sister had said her on/off relationship with celebrity lawyer Matthew Krawleigh was often slapped all over the headlines. She had also placed in the top 10 of the worlds most beautiful women.

Edith was more famous for her bad luck in love. His sister had said that there was always a scandal going on about whether all her past loves had wanted her sisters and no relationship she had never lasted more than a month. She was also known for being quite bitchy; always allowing personal spats with her sisters to leak into the the tabloids.

Sybil was the youngest sister but no less followed. Photos of her out in clubs being a rebel, partying till late and stumbling out of clubs always made a page in all the magazines and her lively spirit and honesty to critics had often left her in hot water with the public.

Tom shook his head as Mr. Carson continued.

"Now the Crawleys are currently having a house built in Yorkshire so for the time being Lord Crawley and his wife are resident in the penthouse whilst his daughters have a room each in the lower floor. These cards" He flashed the silver card he had pressed on the pad to Tom "will allow you to travel to the top floors without interuption should Lord Crawley call for you."

As the doors to the lift opened Mr. Carson walked ahead of Tom and knocked on the penthouse door across the hallway. Feeling more than nervous as the door opened Tom gave his tie a tug and walked forward to meet his new employer.

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