WHERE: the newly-refurbished Château Saint Martin & Spa, France

TYPE: five-star Gallic grande luxe

GOOD FOR: those in search of a bit of quiet

One can imagine the effect that Château Saint-Martin had on the Knights Templar who paused here in Provence the 12th century, taking a breather after a season crusading in the Holy Land. It probably seemed like sweet honey. Still does, really. The hotel looms before you on the road from Nice like a wedding cake, sprawling, pale as sugar in the afternoon glare, and perched atop a mountain: it is a bit of repose in area run ragged by tourists.

Although Antibes and Juan-Les-Pins are visible from the dining terrace and all south-facing guest rooms, they don’t trouble the ear. It is as quiet as the sepulchre – which is either your bag or not (though if fleshpots are your thing, the hotel has a small slice of private beach you can use at Antibes). At any rate, you are hardly cut off, with the Fondation Maeght and its Braques and Giacomettis down the road, and the beautiful if tourist-packed walled town, Saint-Paul de Vence close, too. The airport is Nice, 40 minutes off.

There is a vague air of the private house, albeit a pretty massive one, about the hotel – there are Gobelins tapestries, wood panelling in the bar, vast arrays of sunflowers and a seeming absence of anyone else, which must come down to clever design as it was full when MR PORTER visited. The 34-acre gardens also mean that if you do see anyone you don’t want to, you can escape them in its many tiers or take shelter behind the Mr Bernar Venet art installations. The magnificent infinity pool is also so large that you can do backstroke up and down while staring at the mountains without risking a collision. The staff all glide around like swans, charming, erudite, wholly unobtrusive, they know their business.

There are two restaurants, both alike in dignity, but of different quality. Le Saint-Martin is the Michelin-starred number with views down to the sea and master-chef Mr Jean-Luc Lefrançois in the kitchen. You can order an omelette with truffle for breakfast here. At night, it serves regional French dishes that have been elevated to giddy heights – things like roast lamb fillet with quinoa cromesqui shoulder, artichoke and young fennel. In the garden though is L’Oliveraie, a relaxed wood-fired grill restaurant and pizza joint. It is a beautiful setting and the grilled meats are superb, but the pizzas need work – which is a shame give the hotel’s ownership. Still though, you can always make your way through the wine list, which is longer than the bible.

Despite this being quite a roomy castle, there are only 40 rooms and suites and four two-bedroom villas, all of which have been done up this year in a comprehensive, multi-million pound facelift. This was done by Bergit, Countess Douglas, who is a scion of the Oetkers, the family that owns this along with sister hotels Le Bristol in Paris and Hôtel Du Cap-Eden-Roc down the road. This usually sounds alarm bells in the hotel trade as relatives of owners tend to make a pig’s ear of things. Not here though. It is all crisp linens, earthy Riviera colours, Bamford toiletries in the bathroom and fine views. The only odd thing is that each room has a rather dominating free-standing television, which all looks a bit 2005, but that’s a small gripe.