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A week later.

“Branson!”

Tom looked up from his desk to see the political editor motioning for him to follow him into his office. Tom was a general assignment reporter and had been for about three years since he’d joined the staff. He enjoyed getting to cover a variety of stories, but he also knew that he needed to find a niche. He loved politics, but it was a tough beat and there was plenty of competition in terms of who got the plumb assignments. Ed Gardener, whose office Tom was stepping into, had a reputation for spitting up and chewing out novice writers. Tom had survived his gauntlet so far.

“I know you’re working on the follow up to the hospital fire story from yesterday, but Sally’s pulling you off that,” Ed said, motioning for Tom to sit down. “I’ve got something better. I’ve got you booked on a train up to York. When you get there, a shuttle will be waiting to go to Downton Abbey—”

Tom recognized the name immediately. “Downton Abbey?”

“It’s Robert Crawley’s place. He’s a power broker in the conservative party. Not a household name as he’s mostly behind the scenes. His brother is—”

“Philip, secretary of state for health.”

Ed smiled. “The very same. They’re hosting a soiree of sorts for some of the movers and shakers in the party. Not usually the thing press get invited to, but they’re trying to give a few newbies some publicity so they’ve planned a few public events and gave us two credentials.”

“And you’re sending me?” Tom asked, surprised.

“And a photographer. I saw Philip at a lunch yesterday and he mentioned meeting you.”

“I’m friends with his niece—well, not friends, acquaintances. Not even that really. A friend of hers dated my brother for about five minutes recently, that’s all.”

“Well, whatever the connection, he remembered you, and we always seem to strike out in getting him to do a sit down. I was thinking you could play up whatever connection you had to see if we can finally make it happen.”

Tom’s mind was reeling. Philip Crawley had talked about him? He couldn’t turn down the opportunity—it was too big—but taking it on meant he had something to thank Sybil for, which … well, he didn’t like it.

“Train leaves this afternoon. Go home and pack, and I’ll email you the rest of the details.”

Tom nodded and stood. “Business dress, I assume?” 

“Yes, and black tie for tomorrow night,” Ed replied. “You have a tux, don’t you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Ed took his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then said, “Just put it on your expense account.”

Tom laughed nervously. “I don’t have one of those either.”

Ed put his glasses back on. “You do now. This will likely be the only thing you can expense this year, mind. I’ll get the paperwork done and email that too. You’ll be booked at an inn called the Grantham Arms, which I’m told is walking distance from the abbey. Print it, sign it and find a way to email it back before you get the suit.”

“OK, anything else?”

Ed smiled. “Welcome to the political team.”

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