Mr & Mrs Smith

This review of Pretty Beach House in Central Coast is taken from our guidebook Mr & Mrs Smith Hotel Collection Australia/New Zealand.

The moment we creep up the black-run-steep driveway, leaving the modest fibro shacks of the ‘Costa Centrale’ (Central Coast to the locals) behind, we have entered another world. Pretty Beach House is a private – extremely private – retreat, and there’s not a sheet of compressed cement to be seen: just three pavilions, high in the trees and looking back through lush bushland to the oyster farms of the sparkling Brisbane Waters. It’s a true sanctuary, and the pampering starts the minute we open our car doors. Staff are gracious, spunky, switched-on and utterly charming. Their passion is palpable and contagious.

We are led along a slatted wooden pathway through beautiful native gardens and gracious gums to Hideaway Pavilion, our seductive new love nest. Ms Smith can barely control a gasp. An enormous bed beckons a few steps above the main living area, which in turn is surrounded by glass doors and a huge deck. Meticulous attention to detail rules throughout, with soothing contemporary furnishings in muted tones. Natural materials abound – polished sandstone, bamboo walls, recycled timber buttresses, twig screens, twine balustrades – but this is ravishingly refined rustic.

As Ms Smith and I pause on the sofa, it’s so damn cosy we never want to leave. Thankfully, she swings into action and makes the perfect vodka tonic, complete with lashings of fresh lime, from the fully stocked bar, although perhaps the ambience has a teensy bit to do with it tasting so good. After a quick test of the outsize bed, the request for a softer pillow is met immediately as a staff member delivers three different pillows to choose from (I’m all for a pillow menu). Equally impressive is the enormous bathroom, complete with a heated pebble stone floor. It’s a decadent touch, and our feet love it.

Rising steam contrasts against a darkening sky over the treetops as we frolic in the heated plunge pool on the outdoor deck. Eventually hunger overcomes us, so we dress for dinner and head to the main house, where a table pour deux is set by the open fireplace. The menu here is overseen by acclaimed Italian chef Stefano Manfredi, and focuses on local, uncomplicated flavours. The best part is the luxury of choice. You can dine at any time, anywhere on the property and on almost anything you crave. We feast on steamed white asparagus with generous shavings of new-season winter black truffle, perfectly cooked fish and beef, and a delicious mandarin pudding. Different wines are chosen from the cellar for each course, and they, like the menu, change daily. Boredom is not an option.

The next morning, after a leisurely breakfast in bed – the granola, bread, sausages, chutney and jams all house-made – we take a walk through the untamed coastal bushland that surrounds the property. Guessing our independence (you can have someone accompany you on a hike if you so desire), the hotel manager organises a backpack with water bottles, insect repellent and a map before we set off. We discover the look-out, a canopied day-bed perched at the southern perimeter of the grounds, and decide this is the ideal place to take morning tea (they bring it to you, of course). It’s all rather civilised, particularly since it feels as though you’re completely cut off from the rest of the world, floating amid views of bush and water. Back at the main house, lunch might be an antipasto plate or something more substantial: rabbit and pearl barley stew or pizzas from the wood-fired oven. The most difficult choice is where to have it: oh, to lunch lounging on our deck or alfresco by the emerald-green in?nity pool? Decisions, decisions.

To complete our weekend of relaxed indulgence, we’ve booked massages. Our therapists knock on the door late Sunday afternoon, set up tables in the living area and apply their magic touch. It’s raining cats and dogs outside but we agree that there’s no better place or state to be in. We’ve hit the jackpot.

After just two days, Ms Smith and I have concluded that Hideaway will be our new weekender, easily reached from our Sydney base when we want to rekindle our romance (with PBH, as well as each other). She was cheeky enough to write in the visitors’ book that she’d taken ownership and it was simply no longer available. This is one very special escape, where we could happily stay for quite some time without leaving the compound. When we return, a quick dip in the surf at nearby Killcare Beach will be our first task. Chased up with Stefano’s strawberry brioche tarts with vanilla gelato and gooey chocolate pudding…