On the first floor, the room opens onto a juliet balcony just wide enough to lean into the morning. Push the shutters back and the cove is there below you, the water shifting from ink to glass as the sun clears the headland and warms the stone. The light arrives early here, low and gold across the bed, and the air comes up off the sea carrying salt and the green of the gardens.

Inside it is calm and uncluttered: lime-washed walls, linen that smells of sun, cool tiles underfoot. A small writing table sits by the window for coffee and the first slow hour of the day. By afternoon the room settles into shade, the sound of the water still rising from the rocks below, steady as breathing.