Lake Como's Quietest Villa Is Now Open

The boat leaves Como at nine and takes twenty-five minutes to reach the villa's own landing, which is one of those small luxuries that immediately recalibrates what you expect of an arrival. There is no jetty for anyone else.

The house is eighteenth century and has been restored with unusual discipline. Where other properties on this shore have added a spa, a nightclub and a second restaurant, this one has added nothing. Fifteen rooms. One terrace. One kitchen. A garden that runs down to the water in three green terraces.

Wisteria covers the pergola above the terrace and drops small pale petals onto the tables, which the staff brush away with the resignation of people who have accepted that they will be doing so all afternoon.

“The lake does the talking. The house knows better than to compete.”

Dinner is a single seating at eight. There is no menu; the kitchen cooks what the lake and the garden offer that day, and there is no performance about it. We ate lake fish, a risotto that tasted of the garden, and a peach that had been picked that afternoon and was, somehow, the best thing on the table.

Mornings are the reason to come. The lake is still, the mountains are grey-blue, and the only sounds are the oars of the single scull that goes past at half past six. By ten the day has begun; by then you have already had the best of it.