Cliveden House Hotel

"Nothing ordinary ever happened here, nor could it."

Getting there was far from ordinary.

My clapped-out rental had broken down twice. With the exhaust rattling and the hazard lights jammed on and blinking at warp speed, I resorted to wrapping the car in duct tape. The rivulet of anxiety at driving in a foreign country had gushed to full-blown panic as I fishtailed the icy roads of Taplow in Buckinghamshire, skidding the last few kilometres to the Italianate mansion. 

There was nothing ordinary about my arrival at one of England’s grandest country house hotels, sneaking in through the tradesman’s entrance, tailpipe dangling forlornly between my rapidly deflating tyres. But Cliveden is a classy joint and it’s the staff’s job to know you’ve turned up, even if you wish they hadn’t. The crunch of gravel underfoot heralded my arrival and just as I pretended to alight from an adjacent Aston Martin, a porter busted me and rushed to help me with my bags. 

The extraordinary continued inside. The grandeur slapped me giddy, and with my mouth agape, I was escorted to my rooms. Buckingham: both the name of my suite and the first owner of Cliveden. The duke installed his mistress here after slaying her husband, the Earl of Shrewbury, in a duel in 1668. Like the Countess, I was lodged in the main house with views over the parterre to the River Thames beyond. I imagined Mr Carson in my oak panelled suite, or Daisy perhaps. There was more than a whiff of Downton Abbey in the air. Handmade beds, antiques and oil paintings, lace-ruffled gents hanging above my writing desk, redolent of the distant past.  

While much has changed since the countess’ time, Cliveden is still more home than hotel. You really do feel you’re spending the night in a friend’s rather stately home. Of course, there are all the modern conveniences, like complimentary Wi-Fi, heated marble floors in the bathrooms, flat screen televisions and wireless tablet thingum to keep you connected during your stay.   

As soon as the porter left, I threw myself onto the enormous bed and bounced about reliving ephemeral joys of childhood. And I would have kept bouncing, had I not spied a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and a box of truffles on an antique pedestal table. I bounced over to the ice bucket.  

Bounce.  

Pop.  

Sip.  

Just the tonic... and seriously impressive.  

And Cliveden is designed to impress. There are 10 grand suites in the main house – five on the first floor and another five on the second – and another 38 rooms and suites in yonder wings, beyond the carved staircase and frescoed ceilings and suits of medieval armour and oil paintings and sundry gorgeous items. Everything is on a truly epic scale.  

My suite came with access to the Butler’s Pantry, which is full of complimentary goodies. After a quick recce, I returned to my rooms to change. Outside the weather was artic. But not here. Surely somewhere in my cavernous suite there was a roaring fire?  

Or not... an elegant marble fireplace in the bedroom and another in the bathroom. And a sign of what's past is prologue to “kindly refrain from lighting candles”. You see, Cliveden has burned to the ground.  

Twice.  

Once in 1795 and again in 1849. An occupational hazard of these stately piles. They say Queen Victoria saw the smoke from her home at Windsor Castle and dispatched the royal fire engines.  

The oak-panelled suite lent a reassuring sense of grandiose continuity to even my short little stay. I was there for less than 24 hours and with every second counting down, giddy with excitement, I headed to the bar for an aperitif. As I entered the great hall at Cliveden House Hotel, I thought to myself, where’s Willy? His daughter-in-law, Nancy – elegant in oil on canvas – gazed down from her gilded frame, but no William (Willy) Waldorf Astor. See, Willy bought the place but it was Nancy I’d heard all about.    

Nancy Astor was a Virginia-born southern belle who tolled the end of an era. And many stately homes fell victim to the great social schism of the twenties and thirties, Cliveden flourished and the hotel continues to host famous guests from all over the world. The Duchess of Sussex, Meghan Markle, and her mother stayed at Cliveden in 2018, on the eve of her marriage to Prince Harry. It’s a house that’s used to the rich and famous. An earl, two dukes and a Prince of Wales lived here, but I was keen on the Astors. Of all the tenants, the indelible stamp they left on Cliveden intrigued me the most. From the marble fireplace liberated from a French chateau to the ornate Gothic Revival mahogany staircase, Cliveden was never far from their thoughts as the family trotted the globe picking up treasures for chez Astor.  

Cashed up First Viscount Astor bought the property from the Duke of Westminster. The latter’s tenure lasted only a little over 20 years. It started disastrously: the house burnt down a couple of months after he moved in, but out of the grey rose house number three – the one we see today – and colour returned to the estate.  

Under the Astor’s, Cliveden became a centre of society and occasionally scandal. The Profumo affair began by the pool. Charlie Chaplin, George Bernard Shaw, Mahatma Gandhi, Rudyard Kipling and Winston Churchill all came to visit. At a dinner party, Nancy Astor told the wartime prime minister, “If I were your wife, I would poison your coffee.” Churchill said, “If I were your husband, I would drink it.” During a visit to Moscow, she asked Stalin why he insisted on slaughtering so many of his people.  

The indelible Nancy Astor, cast variously as a soulless virago or sparking chatelaine, is central to the Cliveden story. Today, the huge Lady Astor Suite is one of only two parterre rooms, and offers guests one of the grandest suites in England. The first Viscount Astor gave Nancy the house as a wedding present and moved away to Hever Castle. And with gaiety the keynote of the Edwardian era, a weekend invitation to Cliveden became the golden ticket. Both the well-heeled and the high-born down-at-heel beat a path to the studded oak front door. Yet despite their enormous wealth, neither Nancy nor her husband the second Viscount Astor could afford much emotion. Nancy in particular, confined with in its walls, bristled with restless caged energy and got a job, becoming the UK’s first female member of parliament. 

A stay at Cliveden brings you close to Viscountess Astor – or her legacy at least. Her son donated the house to the National Trust in 1942 and the family stopped living there in 1968. It became a luxury hotel in 1985. There’s the house, 376 acres of National Trust-managed grounds, the spa, bar, two restaurants and the best gin and tonic I’d ever tasted, which I cradled lovingly as I considered the John Singer Sargent portrait of the formidable Cliveden hostess in the great hall. 

After grandeur came decadence: dinner time with English ingredients guided by the seasons, under the expert direction of chef André Garrett. An autumn black truffle risotto chased with a Cliveden 66 Cocktail of vodka, champagne, rose liqueur and Grand Marnier... and a generous helping of gold leaf, naturally. Then loin of venison paired with a Château Le Bosque bursting with cherry notes set the scene. But the real showstopper came at the finale: a dessert of blackberry mousse with sorbet and dark chocolate that made the mouth dance as each flavour opened itself one by one. As I savoured the last mouthful I wondered if there was an elevator somewhere … anywhere. Sleep came quickly that night. As I nodded off, I wondered who else had slept in that room. A duke or duchess? A Poet, politician or prince? Considering Cliveden’s pedigree, most likely all of the above.  

A trip to Cliveden isn’t complete without a leisurely stroll around the magnificent estate. But Autumn had conquered the grounds and everywhere a knee-deep autumnal blanket of leaves, so the next morning I was content with an amble about the parterre. Far-off glimpses of Windsor Castle lent a majesty to the elevated harmonies of Cliveden. And as the morning mist caressed the grounds and  

slipped into the River Thames at the bottom of the garden, and the true magnificen revealved in glorious technicolour I am dismal at the thought of leaving.   

The author stayed courtesy of Cliveden House Hotel. 

And there’s more…

• Works of art on the grounds including the Fountain of Love and the Roman sarcophagi. 

• The famous Parterre laid out in 1855 by John Fleming. 

• The maze, which opened in 2011 and is perfect for big and little kids alike. 

• Woodlands which features a wealth of walks including a fitness trail. 

• Storybook play den or the paddock with goal posts for sport-lovers and families. 

• Giant games in the water garden. 

• Octagonal temple. 

• The pavilion built to commemorate the Battle of Blenheim 

• Amphitheatre where the first recital of Rule Britannia was played.