Tom woke and almost fell out of his bed as he noticed the time. It was already half past six, he was meant to be up half an hour ago! Jumping into the shower of his room and pulling on his chauffeur uniform Tom nearly hit his head on the door as he rushed to get out of his room.

"Whoa Tom!" cried a female voice. "There's really no need to rush!"

Tom stopped to apologize to the woman he had almost crushed. "Sorry Anna. I keep turning my bloody alarm off and drifting off again. I have to clock in by seven and I wanna keep up my early streak."

Anna laughed at his eagerness "Well look, have some breakfast before you go."

Tom accepted but then realised he had forgotten his car keys in his room and bolted back inside.

As he fumbled around his room for the keys Tom reflected on his first three days at the Downton. He had taken the Lord to various meetings and had recieved compliments on his driving, especially around the busy London streets. He had also taken Mrs. Crawley to a few lunches with the other famous wives of London's big businessmen. However he had yet to take the Crawley sisters out as they often got picked up by the chauffeurs of their socialite friends.

Giving a smile as he found the huge collection of expensive car keys, Tom sprinted out of his room and down the hall. He continued the reflections of his past few days as he strolled along, running his hands along the hotel walls. His room at the Abbey hotel, which homed most of the 200 Downton staff, had lived up to his expectations. He had a nice bedroom, bathroom, living area and only had to walk down the hall a little to the communial kitchen he shared with those on his floor. There was Mrs. Patmore the Crawleys personal chef and waitress Daisy, Gwen was their private maid, Anna was the Crawley ladies hair and make up stylist and Sarah O'Brian was their Personal Assistant. One of the hotel waitors Thomas also lived on their floor as well as William, the doorman Tom had met on his first day. Even Mr. Carson, Mr. Bates, head of hotel security and Mrs. Hughes, the hotel consierge had rooms on their floor for when they had to work late and could not travel home to their well earned London townhouses.

Tom was met with a general good morning from the staff around the table. He was just opening the fridge when Daisy burst into the room, balancing various Starbucks coffees on her palm.

"Good lord Daisy you'll spill them all over the place!" Cried Mrs. Patmore rushing to the young girls aid. "Right, now who ordered the Praline Mocha?"

Before anyone could answer however a noise cut through the kitchen, beep beep beep. Everyone instintivly rummaged in their pockets for their pagers, but it was Tom who discovered a message.

'C.C, E.C, S.C Bentley to Bond St. 9am'

o o o

Gliding through the hotel lobby Sybil was met with the familiar feeling of having every pair of eyes in the room on her. Being born into a world of money and fame meant constant attention was no stranger to Sybil and her sisters. The flash of cameras and the shouting of her name had little effect on Sybil who had learned to get used to this aspect of life. She saw Mr. Carson and gave him a slight nod.

"Good morning Miss. Crawley. Branson is waiting for you with the Bentley just outside, there doesn't seem to be many paparazzi around but would you like escorting to the car?"

"No need Carson, I can handle it."

Purposely speeding up at the hotel door so as to open it herself rather than have William do it for her, Sybil hopped gracefully down the hotel stairs and up to the awaiting car. Noticing that Branson was sat in the front seat she flicked her eyes back and fourth, making sure there were no crazed fans or preying paparazzi around before strutting purposely up to the front door and tapping on the window. Smirking at his startled face she stepped backwards to allow him out of the car.

"Miss Crawley I'm so sorry, Mr. Carson said you would need the car for nine, it's only," He checked his watch and his face fell. "Nine. I am sorry, I was completly absorbed in the paper."

Inwardly laughing at his awkwardness, Sybil allowed him to open the door for her as he should have been waiting to do so before she came out. Getting in the car she stopped for a moment, holding the top of the door with both hands like a mischeivious child.

"I hope it wasn't anything to do with me." She explained to his confused look "In the paper. No story about me I hope?"

"No Miss, just boring politics. I'm not really interested in your life to be honest."

Although quite shocked at his bluntness, Sybil was intrigued and spoke over his attempted mumble of an apology about not trying to sound rude. "Thats good to know, because none of it is usually very true. For example, I'm supposedly six months pregnant right now with twins according to one paper. Does it look that way Branson?" She flirtatiously twirled infront of him, she had learned long ago how to capture male attention.

She was surprised however when he laughed at her. She had expected a blush at least or another stammered reply. It seemed she would have to work harder to wrap the chauffeur round her little finger, which came easier with most men. "No Miss, you definatly do not look pregnant."

"Hmm, good." She then made to get in the car but glancing round quickly stared into Bransons eyes and said with complete flippancy. "Might I say Branson, the uniform looks very sexy on you."

And with that she slipped on a pair of huge brown lensed sunglasses and slid into the back of the Bentley followed by her mother and Edith who were just desending the hotel stairs.

o o o

Closing the paper after the third attempt at trying to read it Tom glanced at his watch. It was now 12:30. Did it really take over three hours to choose an outfit? Glancing over at the designer store Branson sighed. Mrs. Crawley and her two youngest daughters were looking for dresses for some big charity ball in the following week. He knew this as he had overheard them mention it as he had driven them through the busy streets. But this was just ridiculous, how could it take this long to find an outfit? Just as he was bordering on dashing into the shop and saving them from what he assumed was now a hostage situation, the three Crawleys stepped elegantly outside. Tom suddenly felt very awkward. He had tried to forget Miss Sybils comment about his uniform earlier but he was finding it difficult. He knew he should think she was just a flirtatious heiress who knew how to do little else but stand there and look pretty, but he hadn't gotten that vibe from her. He had definatly gotten a sense of rebellion from her banter, but there was also something else, intelligence maybe, a witty mind? Shaking his head of the thought and trying to convince himself she was just another rich airhead he opened the car door for the ladies.

Getting into his seat, he could not help over hear their conversation.

"Mum, I wish you would let me choose this time" sighed Sybil.

"Of course I'd let you choose my darling, as long as you chose what I would have chosen." Replied her mother with an airy laugh. She then adressed Branson "Oh Branson, could you bring Sybil back here next week, only they didn't have the colour in she wanted for the dress and she has to be sure the colour we have chosen goes well with her pale complexion."

Not entirely sure of what he had heard, Tom simply replied "Yes Mrs. Crawley."

Sybil then spoke again "I don't know why we bother having a fitting and buying designer dresses. All we ever wear is a short and flashy peice of fabric, I wouldn't mind something different for a change."

Edith scoffed at this as though she had never heard anything more stupid. "What do you want to wear then? This is a red carpet event you know!"

"I don't know, something new and exciting. Anyway, isn't the event meant to be about the Soliders? I don't really know if people should be worrying about how much of my body I'll be flashing as much as they should about the men and women being honoured."

Branson could not help but be startled by this comment. Okay, he thought, maybe she was only half an airhead after all.

Please Review ^^