‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Nico reflects, a sense of pride in his tone.

‘That purplish red of the cliffs is vibrant – stunning, but I’m trying hard not to worry about how steep it is, or how high up we are going.’

‘It’s not far now. There’s a bit of an uphill trek after we park, but it’s well worth it, I assure you.’

Eventually we pull into a loosely gravelled car park at the bottom of a long run of steps. As Nico locks the car door, I wonder if I have the stamina for this. Ahead of us, a steep, winding slope seems to stretch out forever. Elongated, cobbled steps, two paces deep for my stride, help to ease the going under foot. But it’s tiring and surprisingly quickly my calves begin to tighten, the gradient taking a toll.

Nico, on the other hand, seems not to notice, so I try my best to keep up a reasonable pace as he follows behind me. The stout, rustic stone walls either side rise up high above us, punctuated only by stone archways with solid, dark oak wooden doors. Tumbling over the walls is a profusion of intertwining stems; many have shed their leaves, although a few still linger and some sport dark red, winter berries.

There are rambling roses still in bloom and, the further we climb, I notice winter-flowering jasmine and the splashes of colour are delightful. I can’t help but imagine what it must look like in spring and summer, when everything is burgeoning. Honeysuckle, climbing hydrangeas and the sturdy framework of a very old wisteria cover large areas of the walls.

I stop for a moment to catch my breath, tilting my head back. A church spire looms up, partially obscured from view by the high walls. Its tapering profile is visible enough to show that it’s a fine example of the rustic chapels of the area.

It’s not possible to see any roofs at ground level, but as soon as we turn the first corner – which I’d assumed was at the top of our walk – the lane opens out, and the incline is much easier to handle. About fifty metres in front of us is an open gateway. The hand-hewn, oblong stones of the staunch pillars support two oversized stone urns. Either side the top of the walls slope away from the pillars in an elegant sweep. Peering through the entrance, a very old stone-built manor house stands on level ground.

As we step through into the immense, flagstoned courtyard, the gardens around us are surprisingly formal and manicured. This beautiful setting has an air of exclusivity and elegance, rather than rustic charm. It’s a hidden treasure for sure, but so far off the beaten track I can’t imagine that anyone would stumble across it. No, people who come here are either regular patrons or have heard about its reputation.