The Franklin

Arriving late in the afternoon of what’s been a hectic day dashing around the city, I’m immediately enchanted by the Franklin’s low-key, neighbourhood feel. The discreet ‘F’ which marks the entrance is easy to miss if you’re not paying attention, and I already have that thrilling feeling of stumbling on a secret, unassuming London hotspot. The friendly staff address me by name as I walk in, and within moments of my somewhat flustered arrival I am at ease.

If you’re staying in Knightsbridge, this is the place to perch. The Franklin is a perfect capsule of the kind of classic elegance typical of this part of London, with a touch of Italian influence. The 35-room hotel at Egerton Gardens takes impressive ownership of four Victorian redbrick townhouses. Inside, the hotel’s decor is restrained, grown-up and decadent. While that may sound contradictory, it works. Interior designer Anouska Hempel has stamped her mark with gilded furniture, framed botanical prints and Asian stylings. I make mental notes on her moody, muted colour palette: inky blues alongside monochrome accents, oak and marble floors, smoky etched mirrors, and graphic wallpaper. It feels smart, modern and fashionable, but there’s a hint of art deco which amps up the glamour.

After a smooth check-in, I’m treated to a tour of my 25 square-metre Deluxe room. Travelling frequently for work, I appreciate the concept of the home-away-from-home, but if I’m staying at a luxury hotel, I want to know it. The huge, wrought-iron, four-poster bed leaves little room for doubt on that score, and I feel far from home in the best possible sense. Every convenience is at my fingertips – in the most luxurious iterations. Case in point: crisp, Frette bedlinen, the fluffiest of bathrobes and quality minibar snacks, ripe for splurging on. Should I forget my good fortune while brushing my teeth, the bathroom is stocked with Penhaligon’s products as a helpful reminder.

Outside my window is a private haven of manicured lawns and trees. Few hotels take advantage of London’s abundant green spaces, so the Egerton Gardens are a rare, and rarified, pleasure. The view of this beautiful verdant expanse is wonderfully therapeutic, whisking me that much further away from the hustle and bustle of city life. To cement this special ‘me time’, I order a jasmine tea, and a tray is soon delivered to my room. Between becoming smitten with a darling silver sugar box and drinking in the garden view, I sit, reading my book, allowing the peace and quiet to settle in.

When I eventually head downstairs to have a look around the property, I find that my jasmine-induced serenity is not going anywhere; in fact, it’s quite in keeping with the general atmosphere. Checking out the restaurant and bar, I observe other patrons are similarly unruffled – just drinking, chatting and enjoying the surroundings. Nowhere is this contentment more apparent than in the restaurant. With outside customers providing a big slice of the revenue in many hotels, it can sometimes feel as though there isn’t room for you as a paying resident. The Franklin, on the other hand, is exclusively dedicated to its guests. There isn’t a moment when I don’t feel relaxed, or when the service isn’t impeccable. The menu is guided by Michelin-starred chef Alfredo Russo; and, while I’m always biased in favour of modern-Italian cuisine, I would be confident recommending the food to someone differently inclined. I sit for a while, admiring the dining space’s proportions and acoustics, without feeling the rush to leave. Post-dinner, the champagne and martini bar is as conducive to sitting alone as it is to sinking back into a booth chatting to a friend.

The Franklin’s gym and hammam spa facilities are bijou, but offer plenty incentive to invest in a little pampering, whether you’re on a much needed getaway or on the road. I regret not having time to experience the spa during my stay and vow to rectify this on my next visit. I do spend some time in the small library, a lovely, cream-hued spot. It’s ideal for a morning spent catching up on emails, but I relish the invitation to indulge in reading for its own sake.

On my final morning, I begin to resume normal life with a coffee and newspaper in my room. Downstairs at breakfast, my baked eggs are a revelation, and I savour a few more moments of this civilised start to the day, wishing the weather would permit me to sit on the outdoor terrace. The only thing left is a seamless check-out, and the eager anticipation of returning to this side of town, which – for me – will now be synonymous with the secluded luxury of the Franklin.