03 May 2024

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Star Grazing

Sarah Turner found herself choosing eggs benedict with her new celebrity best friend Kim Cattrall. Just an everyday breakfast on the delicious island of Necker.

Antigua - Chilling out is mandatory at Necker

1.Necker Island 2.Chilling out is mandatory at Necker 3.Fabulous ocean views

THESE DAYS, really fancy hotels send you a questionnaire before you arrive. On it are important matters to address, your preferred vermouth so staff can construct the perfect dry martini or the exact thread count when it comes to linen sheets.

However, I knew that Necker was in a league of its own when they sent me a questionnaire with the name of Kim Cattrall on it. And her boyfriend’s (thank you, Google).

Quite a lot of people, some only passing acquaintances, got that email forwarded to them. Was Kim really going to be on Necker with me?

On Richard Branson’s private Caribbean island where Kate Moss hooked up with her latest toyboy; where Princess Diana took her children; and where Robert de Niro has partied through the night.

On the one hand, hanging out with the star of Sex And The City is quite in keeping with Necker’s reputation of being the starriest place in the Caribbean (if not the world).

But on the flight from London to Antigua a couple of things occur to me; firstly, that Kim might not be an ideal fellow guest when you’re jet-lagged and have a large spot developing between your eyebrows; and secondly, and more importantly, that sharing a swimming pool with the author of Satisfaction: The Art Of The Female Orgasm might be a touch intimidating.

To be honest, it is a bit of a relief to sneak into Necker and my mosquito-netted four-poster under cover of darkness.

Hilltop views and relaxation

Next morning, I wander from my hilltop room, past the helicopter pad and Balinese-style buildings set against swimming pools, to breakfast at the Great House. A lizard darts into the rocks as I pass by, admiring views of the sea framed by palm trees, with yachts in the far distance.

As I’m inspecting the (very fine) muffin display someone comes up to me. ‘Hi, I’m Kim,’ she says. I decide that part of the joy of Necker is that everyone meets as an equal over the orange juice.

She’s been on the island for a couple of days, she says, and they’ve had a wonderful time sunbathing, swimming, going on fishing trips and having tennis lessons.

And the food is wonderful, mentions my new celebrity friend as we tuck into eggs benedict.

Any flaws, I ask? ‘Well, I’d love to bring my mum here but I think she’d find the steps quite hard to cope with,’ she says. I nod. There aren’t many handrails on Necker and my mum wouldn’t have found it easy either.

After a leisurely breakfast, Kim and her admirably young boyfriend take a helicopter to the airport.

Admittedly, my celebrity encounter hadn’t lasted long, but I like to think it was a meaningful one.

I’d expected Necker to be rock ‘n’ roll but I hadn’t expected it to be quite so relaxing. The staff get used to me declining the opportunity to wakeboard in favour of a swim and a touch of light play with Sumo, Necker’s dog.

It wasn’t as if I was completely slothful. I snorted when one of the staff said she’d done 20 lengths of the pool that morning.

That was before I saw that the pool was 90ft long. With a bar attached. Everything feels oversized on the island, from the golf umbrella with ‘Necker: Sir Richard Branson’s Private Island’ written on it to the family-sized bottles of sunscreen in the rooms.

Million dollar views

There are times when Necker feels like a one-person anti-obesity campaign. Staff kept coming up to me to ask whether I wanted to go kite surfing or waterskiing, sailing or have a tennis lesson from Pete, the resident tennis pro who used to be Richard Branson’s personal tennis coach in Oxfordshire.

The other guests are a couple (evidently very rich) from one of those countries in between Russia and the rest of Europe, two Americans, a couple of friends of the Bransons and Simon, an astronomer from London who is on the island to fine tune Necker’s latest toy, a £20,000 telescope installed on the roof.

His colleagues back in London are a touch jealous, he mentions over lunch. Meals on Necker are friendly, communal affairs, at a different location each time. If lunch is at a long table beneath the palm trees on the beach, then dinner is on a promontory on the cliffs, with the lights of yachts far in the distance.

My room is wonderful, with million-dollar views down to the water, an open-air shower and a wonderful sense of peace impregnated into chunky Oriental-style furniture. A mix between a house party and one of those after-parties you read about in the glossy magazine world but are never invited to, there’s almost a Cornwall-meets-the-Caribbean vibe about Necker. The staff wear T-shirts and shorts and flip-flops, everyone is on first-name terms. In the evening, one of the staff would head behind the bar and mix drinks and, with copious canapes, we’d sit around and do a crossword faxed over from London. If none of the staff was around (and Pete the tennis coach made a mean cocktail), you could just head behind the bar to play mixologist.

Pink flamingos?

And to go into the Great Hall with its archipelago of squashy white sofas is to know that there have been a hundred fabulous late-night parties. On Necker you can almost feel the aura of rock stars jamming on the beach and the collective nursing of hangovers the next morning. The chefs will happily incorporate any macrobiotic food preferences you have into your diet, and the place also has its own spa built into the cliffside. Mostly, when the Branson family aren’t entertaining the likes of Kate Moss or Maria Sharapova, Necker is rented by companies or, according to the guestbook, frighteningly active American families.

Several of these seem to arrive with printed itineraries, which they then thoughtfully paste into the guestbook. An enjoyable perusal reveals these weeks as a ceaseless round of dad and kids’ scavenger hunts (‘Moms unpack and relax’), competitive tennis tournaments, fishing competitions, and, one can only hope, seething inter-family dissent.

According to the nice general manager, the trickiest part of his job is making sure that there is something new to do for people each time they visit, since Necker has a high level of repeat guests. Then he goes off to make the final arrangements for the six pink flamingos due to arrive by boat later that day. Pink flamingos? It felt very Necker. On my last night, Simon, the astronomer, makes the final adjustments to the telescope. After dinner with a large supply of wine, we all climb up to the roof.

We lounge on cushions, drink in hand, and take turns to gaze at the moon in all its pock-marked glory, then Venus, then Saturn and Mars. Necker feels like a very starry place indeed.

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