Breaking the fast at the Grand Hotel at Villa Feltrinelli is another nod at the life one would lead if one had staff and decades-old money, the fount of which would never run out. There are berries, eggs in all permutations and shapes, fresh ricotta and the sometimes not-so-gentle lap over the shore while the sun is kind, rather than hiding.

The silence at the Grand Hotel is beautiful, the only noise ducks. You can hear the lake, incessant, constant and sometimes, from far off on the shore opposite, children shouting. As long as I stayed at the Villa Feltrinelli I did not see a single child: this is a place created, maintained, almost in its very fibre, for adults. There are, thankfully, no 'events' and all the guests read books. That tells you more about the place than anything else.

The silence is most suddenly broken, along with the yolk of my eggs Benedict, as a few metres away, a chopper descends on to the helipad. A man climbs down the few steps leading to the grass. He walks to the edge of the shore where a table has been laid waiting for him. Staff rush over with his capuccino and soon, a cornetto. Within half an hour he has read his newspaper and is ready to leave, so he climbs back on the heli, the thing chugs back to life, and they depart.

I sat on and read another chapter.

 

A full review of the Grand Hotel at Villa Feltrinelli by Mona Farrugia is here