"Well young sir, welcome to Greystoke."
Mr. Bell shifted round and craned his head, squinting into the back seat. Heavy tinting on the windows of the family's cars was all well and good, but sometimes he needed to see who it was he was escorting.
A dark shape stirred, tugged out his earphones (for the first time on the entire journey), and turned to the window. There was a pause, and a sharp intake of breath. Bell turned back to the wheel with a smirk. Finally, something had livened up the lad, who had been practically comatose since they set off.
As he opened the door and stepped onto the familiar crunch of gravel, he had to admit, the house was a thing of beauty. Its red-stoned facade was the kind of grandeur built to intimidate the neighboring 'poor' in Greystoke, the tiny village just outside it's gates. It was also a strange design - as previous masters had come and gone, they had often added extensions, windows, and other features which were fashionable during the time they were living there. Now, it had culminated in one large, arrogantly handsome old house, with so many different things on the front which all, somehow, worked well together. Like a collage of the past.
Bell stared up at it proudly for a moment, then preceded to the boot to get the young master's suitcase.
When the said boy stepped out of the car, his eyes were wide with awe, turning his head this way and that, trying hard to take in every detail of his new surroundings. Everything looked huge. The grounds stretched for miles, way beyond the tops of the trees that shielded the house from view. Looking straight on from the car, all he could see was the gardens, all sun-dappled, immaculately groomed lawns and great oaks standing strong, as though he was staring at a picture in an old novel.