The transatlantic invader is the Toronto-based Four Seasons, one of the world’s leading luxury hotel chains. The five-star-plus company has never ventured beyond London’s city limits before and, in fact, has barely strayed off the urban leash this time.
Four Seasons Hampshire is only an hour’s drive from London, for the well-heeled weekend brigade, and no more than 35 minutes from Heathrow, for its legion of American admirers. Its Hampshire environs offer none of the magnificence of the countryside of, say, Cornwall or the Cotswolds, but most guests won’t concern themselves with what lies beyond the 500 acres of Dogmersfield Park that provide the backdrop to this splendid Grade II-listed Georgian manor.
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Where’s my room? Choose from 155 bedrooms and suites, divided between the authentically awkward angles of the original manor house and the more logical lines of the new West Wing. All are decorated in the same subtle palette of palest yellows, coolest creams and restrained blues and greens, with the usual fruit bowls and Frette linen, and high-tech gadgets hidden within highly polished dark-wood antique furniture. The public areas are fine examples of stealth wealth — gold is kept to a minimum, but the painting hanging in the lobby is a bona fide Stubbs.
Like those in its famous sister property the George V in Paris, the floral displays are imaginative, architectural extravagances. But there are no trying-too-hard, make-yourself-at-home-touches, such as rows of wellies in the hallway.
When the weather’s good, guests can wander out onto the many terraces that overlook green fields dotted with cattle.
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And how’s the service? Four Seasons has built its reputation on service that turns pouting prima donnas into purring pussycats. Here’s an example: the hotel offers valet parking, so, on arrival, I left my car at the entrance, was handed a ticket and asked to present it 10 minutes before I wanted my car returned. I casually mentioned to the front desk that I would be leaving at 9am the next day. Not only was my car brought to the front at that time without me presenting my ticket, the seat had been readjusted to my position (I’m a 5ft midget) and the boot had been left ajar for my bag, to make my life that little bit easier. Unlike my car, this hotel is a gloriously well-oiled machine.
But what is there to do? Ah, yes, well. Every silver lining ... The nearest big town is Basingstoke. But that’s no matter, the hotel is a genuine destination in its own right. There are glorious walks through its estate and along its private stretch of woodland canal, and it also has an impressive equestrian centre, clay-pigeon shooting and a fishing lake stocked with carp and trout.
If your priority is chilling out, however, look no further than the swanky E’spa spa, built within the former stable block. It has any number of swooningly good treatments involving assorted herbs and essential oils, as well as a fabulous swimming pool.
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How’s the food? The restaurant, Seasons, places the emphasis on local, organic produce, serving everything from fish and chips and beefburgers to gourmet British dishes such as rabbit with white-bean terrine and roast pigeon. The rather charmless room, however, takes some of the edge off the experience. The bar is a much sexier proposition, with a sleek, urban appeal and great cocktails, and there’s also the Library for delicious afternoon teas.
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Who should go there? Hugh and Jemima, Jude and Sienna and any other awfully English style-couples.
Who shouldn’t go there? Gosford Park addicts — this is a thoroughly modern country-house experience.
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Four Seasons (01252 853000, www.fourseasons.com). Doubles start at £255, B&B