Estelle Manor

In 2024, describing something as ‘so Saltburn’ is shorthand for ‘English country manor with sprawling grounds’. Somewhere a bit posh, with a sprinkle of eccentricity. Estelle Manor, an erudite, but wickedly fun Oxfordshire manse, is so Saltburn. 

On arrival at the gates in the village of Eynsham we (that’s Mrs Smith, Grandma Smith and toddler Smith) were greeted by two uniformed staff members, who cheerfully took our names and opened the gates. ‘Welcome to Jurassic Park’ is something that I always want to utter during these sorts of moments, but I refrained. The hotel itself is visible at the top of the long gravel driveway, where a multitude of staff wait to greet you by name (that’s the reason for the gatemen, I realised), take your luggage and valet park your car. 

Now, I love my slightly battered mum-mobile – a 2019 Fiesta in racing red – but I must confess to feeling a little embarrassed in the company it was keeping, sitting alongside parked-up Porsches, Range Rovers and Teslas. Not that pro staff batted an eyelid, thankfully. We soon discreetly ascertained that other guests included a group of American girls, a Spanish-speaking businessman travelling solo, a young couple hoisting Neptune shopping bags and a family with a newborn and a grandma in tow, so we weren’t that unusual in terms of clientele. There was one celeb-spot: newlyweds, publisher Jefferson Hack and model Anna Cleveland, who were canoodling over breakfast. 

The reception is decorated in what has become that quintessential modern country-house style, with beautiful sofas in marbled-pattern upholstery (possibly by Beata Heauman?) and an open fireplace with copies of the pedigree broadsheets (Financial Times, The New York Times and The Times) on top of a low coffee table, alongside the requisite design and country-living tomes. Various ephemera – marble lamps and vases – are dotted around, but with precision, you feel. 

After check-in, we’re escorted to our Walled Garden Room, via the members-only club (owner Sharan Pasricha has founded the likes of London’s Maison Estelle and has brought some of this exclusivity to Oxford’s wilds), the Muse boutique and the Den, an unsupervised kids’ club for eight year-olds up. When you book a room in a walled garden, you anticipate a cottagecore feel; however, like everything at Estelle Manor, our hideaway is far bigger than imagined, and there are multiple Walled Garden Rooms. In fact, it’s like a whole other wing of the main hotel.  

We had a humongous king-size bed, two scarlet armchairs with a dodecagon-shaped marquetry table between them, plus a matching pouffe (a concealed floor plug below got a big thumbs up from us). A beautiful green-and-red-tiled fireplace with faux wooden flames is a focal point; mid-century furniture, such as a wardrobe and mirror, features bobbin legs and brass-ring handles; and there’s artfully foxed glass (actually a pet peeve of mine – how does one take a selfie? – but stylish nonetheless). Most impressive of all is a huge armoire which opens out to reveal all manner of treasures: Ruinart champagne, Chips de Madrid truffle crisps, fizzy strawberries, homemade biscuits – and a few surprises, like Mantle skincare for Estelle Manor moisturisers and collagen masks by Magic Stripes. A fridge, Opal coffee machine and kettle, plus teas and coffee pods, are of course all present and accounted for. 

Inside the bathroom we receive an education on the bougie toiletries du jour, from George Northwood-branded shampoos, conditioners, hairdryer, straighteners and curlers, to Commune shower gel, hand wash and hand cream in a fabulous lemongrass, grapefruit and lavender scent (sold at Harrods FYI, RRP £55 a pot). Bathrobes and slippers are Frette and toddler Smith’s toiletries are Dadaumpa. Every single thing has been thought of, from a shaving kit to dental floss, ‘intimacy kit’ to cotton buds. There’s still more to discover in the minibar, including refrigerated eye masks, combs, earplugs and hair ties. It’s standard practice today for bathrooms to be all white marble with gold fixtures, but here ours is in a refreshingly pink tile with a shower lined in three colours of marble. 

Having snooped in the room for long enough, we decided to brave the bar with a toddler. The sight of candlesticks balanced atop art books on the tables made us a little worried, but we needn’t have fretted – everyone seemed to be charmed by her presence and she behaved remarkably well. The barman dutifully fetched a high-chair and she played peekaboo with him while we drank our champagne and looked out on a lone sunset swimmer in the 27-degree outdoor pool. Then we headed to the Brasserie for dinner, which is child-friendly until 7.30pm, and has that moody lighting that requires some to get out their iPhone torch. Toddler Smith was delighted with her child-appropriate supper of plaice and chips, though we confiscated the wedge of lemon and tartare sauce to avoid tears – both hers and ours. Grandma Smith enjoyed a beautifully cooked and seasoned rump of lamb, served with whipped potatoes and a haggis jus, while I devoured my truffle risotto, a choice our waiter complimented me on. Ever the interiors-bore, I spent a lot of time admiring the Gien crockery. With the toddler nearly asleep in her high-chair, we retired to bed, where turndown had just been completed – isn’t it marvellous to see your pyjamas folded neatly and the day’s mess cleared up? 

After a restful night’s sleep (well, as restful as it can be with three in a bed and a little one kicking you in the ribs) we went down to breakfast in the Orangery, which was dog friendly – a guest’s chocolate labradoodle was better behaved than my toddler. The small pastry buffet included exquisite rhubarb-and-custard twists and fresh fruit with yoghurt, and we chose a few hot dishes. Breakfast is included in your stay bar the ‘Eggs Estelle’ topped with caviar and lobster (fair enough). The Mexican omelette felt like a healthy option, with salsa, guacamole and a sprinkling of Manchego cheese, while the scrambled eggs on toast were sunshine yellow. 

We headed out for a day of retail therapy at Bicester Village, a 25-minute drive away, and arrived back encumbered by a few too many bags. For dinner, we decided to venture outside the hotel, choosing the Harcourt Arms in Stanton Harcourt, which recently reopened – we can heartily recommend duck-liver pâté and pumpkin gnocchi. Blenheim Palace is also nearby, not to mention Oxford itself and its punting, colleges and cobbled streets to explore. 

When it came to checking out, we were sad to leave this more feelgood version of Saltburn behind – but we were thankful there were no Murder on the Dancefloor moments, from toddler Smith at least…