Park Lane suite nights in W1K and W1J, with Hyde Park dark beyond the glass

Park Lane was once a parade of private palaces. Grosvenor House belonged to the Dukes of Westminster and Dorchester House to a great Victorian collector, until the late 1920s and early 1930s replaced both with the hotels that still carry their names. The Hilton's tower followed in the 1960s, and the Lane has been London's hotel row ever since, with a few showrooms of very expensive cars in between.

The road itself is wide and busy, so the charm lies on either side of it. Across the carriageway is the park: the Joy of Life fountain near the Mayfair gates, the long lawns rolling towards the Serpentine and, from late November, the lights and the big wheel of Winter Wonderland. On the central strip near Brook Gate stands the Animals in War memorial, quietly moving at dusk. Turn your back on the park and Mayfair begins almost at once, with the terracotta of Mount Street two minutes from the lobby doors.

Park Lane is where long haul travellers land. Guests arrive from the airports at every hour, some for a single night between flights, others for a fortnight of meetings, and many simply want an easy evening that does not involve leaving the building. From September to Christmas the towers fill with business guests, and the ballrooms bring a steady stream of black tie dinners.

What the Lane asks of a companion is grace with a late start. She arrives at ten or eleven looking as fresh as a nine o'clock booking, happy to go down for a drink and just as happy to stay upstairs with the view and the room service menu.

Nearest Marble Arch, Grosvenor House, W1K 7TN, is the biggest of the six, with a ballroom that began life as an ice rink and now hosts some of the largest dinners in London. The Dorchester, W1K 1QA, sits in the middle of the row, its Promenade glowing gold from late morning until the last pot of tea, and 45 Park Lane, W1K 1PN, next door, is the compact, modern sibling with a steak room and plenty of dark glamour.

Further south, the London Hilton on Park Lane, W1K 1BE, rises twenty-eight storeys to a restaurant and bar at the very top, the kind of view that makes a first drink last. At the Hyde Park Corner end, two hotels share Hamilton Place. The InterContinental London Park Lane, W1J 7QY, looks across at the Wellington Arch and stands on the site of the house where the late Queen spent part of her childhood. Its neighbour, the Four Seasons at Park Lane, W1J 7DR, keeps its spa on the top floor, with the park laid out below the windows.

A footnote in small print: these hotels appear because they are where guests sleep, not because of any agreement with us. Their lobby staff simply see a well dressed woman arriving to meet a friend.

Three stations serve the row. The southern hotels are about 3 minutes from Hyde Park Corner, a Piccadilly line stop that trains from Heathrow reach without a change. The northern end is around 5 minutes from the Central line at Marble Arch, and Green Park, where Victoria, Jubilee and Piccadilly trains meet, is roughly 8 minutes' walk through the back streets of Mayfair.

Those stations are for you; your companion is driven to the door, and a Zone 1 address like Park Lane means the ride is already covered by the rate. From the three women who live in Mayfair the drive takes minutes, and from Belgravia and Knightsbridge it is a straight run round Hyde Park Corner. Once Bella has confirmed, she is usually with you well inside the hour.

If your flight is late, write from the taxi. Bella can line up a companion before you know the exact hour, confirm the room as soon as you have the key, and send her the moment you say you are upstairs. The fee is paid to your companion directly, in person, when she arrives.

Say your flight lands at Heathrow at seven on a Wednesday. From the car you send Bella four details (hotel, hour, length, mood) and she comes back with Lea, petite, auburn and cheerfully obsessed with interiors. The room is confirmed the moment you have the key.

She arrives at five to ten, gives the suite a quick professional appraisal (the lamps pass, the cushions do not) and suggests a drink downstairs while the room is turned down. By half past ten you are back upstairs with the curtains open, the park black below and the lights of Knightsbridge beyond it, talking about the play she saw last week and which room of a country house she would repaint first. At one o'clock she leaves, the traffic still humming along the Lane. Three hours, £1,050.

Luna, Samanta and Angelika live in Mayfair, minutes from any door on the row; Luna in particular has a soft spot for the lacquered dining room downstairs at The Dorchester. From Belgravia, across Hyde Park Corner, come Lea, Patricia and Violetta, the last of whom knows the view from the top of the Hilton better than most of its guests.

From Knightsbridge, along the southern edge of the park, come Margo, glossy haired and happiest in velvet, and Sonya, whose ballet posture turns every lobby into a stage. If none of the eight is free, ask Bella and she gives you a straight answer on who is, and how quickly.

Step out of almost any hotel on the row, turn away from the park, and you are in Mayfair proper. Mount Street, with its terracotta and its oyster terrace, is two minutes from Grosvenor House. Grosvenor Square is a short stroll up Upper Grosvenor Street, and the wider Mayfair page covers everything from Claridge's to The Ritz. For an hour of window shopping before dinner, Bond Street is ten minutes east. Marble Arch and the Knightsbridge side of the park are covered too, on identical terms.