There must be a catch. Evidently it lay in the bathroom, but even to a bathroom obsessive such as myself, it was pristine perfection. After a tuberose-scented soak, I wandered down to the drawing room for drinks. Again, I was made to feel as if I was in my own house. In this pastel-decorated room, a mahogany bar stood in one corner from which, as in the pantry, one could help oneself. The house champagne turned out to be Pol Roger and, at under £7 a glass, not at all unreasonable.