at the house

The drawing room at Heckfield Place, green sofas under a chandelier

In Hampshire

Heckfield Place

My favorite layover, and a destination in itself.

Words and photographs by Lucy Cuneo · 3 minutes · From the notebook

The addresses

Heckfield Place is my favorite layover, but it’s a destination in itself.

It’s a Georgian house in the Hampshire countryside, a little over an hour from London, on a 438-acre estate of woods, lakes, gardens and a working farm. The organic Home Farm and the biodynamic market garden feed the kitchens, so what you walk past in the afternoon turns up at dinner. We discovered it a few summers ago when we went to stay for my cousin’s wedding… it’s amazing, and more quiet than Estelle Manor.

The front door at Heckfield, lanterns lit either side Pale purple asters spilling onto a gravel path

Leave time to walk the grounds

The grounds are exceptional. Leave time for them.

A brick arch into the walled garden A single pale pink rose in the garden
A gravel path between bamboo, lit at dusk A long path through the planted borders
The garden path under an arch of trees, lavender along the edges

The Bothy

The spa, The Bothy, is heaven, and it can’t be photographed. It’s digital-free: you leave your phone behind, go through a door in the walled garden, and there’s the pool, the sauna and steam, and the treatment rooms. They suggest giving it at least three hours.

The best part I didn’t photograph.

Book dinner before you arrive

There are two restaurants. Marle has a Green Michelin star and cooks from the estate. Hearth is in the old stables, and everything is cooked over an open fire. Hearth books up, so ask for a table when you book your room. I also love just eating in the living room. It’s the bar menu, and oh so simple and delicious.

Orange lilies in a glass on a marble ledge A salad at dinner, pink flowers on the table behind
The brick wings of the house above the gardens
The bedroom, a pale bed and long curtains A woven headboard and a lamp on a dark bedside table
Two apples in a little basket A bottle of Heckfield mirabelle and cassis cordial
A framed print above a white lamp A poster that says La Guerre est Finie above a row of boots
Jars of cookies and nuts in a lit cupboard Red dahlias by the window
I ate all the cookies.
The front door at dusk A stone urn on the terrace balustrade

Heckfield calls it “slow time”: less phone, more nature, nowhere you need to be.

Heckfield Place at sunset, the fountain in front of the house

Before you go

What I’d tell a friend

The Bothy

Give it at least three hours. Your phone stays behind.

Hearth

In the old stables, everything over the fire. It books up, so ask for a table when you book your room.

Marle

Green Michelin star, cooking from the estate.

The living room

The bar menu, and my favorite. Oh so simple and delicious.

In Hampshire

Less phone, more nature, nowhere you need to be.

Further in

Turquoise water beneath limestone cliffs On the water Sardinia, Barefoot Caves, the most charming village, and long lunches on the water every day. Tables and wicker chairs under a vine pergola in a whitewashed courtyard In Andalusia Falling for Trasierra A day that went wrong in every direction, and a table for two still waiting at half past midnight. A rail of holiday clothes in pinks, yellow and white In the closet The Vacation Closet White linen trousers, two swimsuits, and one loose piece at a time.