Bentley’s Continental GT has a name to suit it: four voluptuous syllables then two emergency stops. This is the first car I reviewed, and it is still my favourite. I think this is because I grew up in Esher, and this is the car of the functional aspirant upper-middle class. It is important to remember that the state limousines – the pair of sinuous maroon sharks that transport the monarch from one demonstration of public magic to the next – are Bentleys, based on the long-gone Arnage, elongated for majesty.
The Bentley is for people who work hard: the still responsible. Just enough flash. Not too much. If Aston Martin is British romance and Rolls Royce British violence in lambswool, Bentley is British functionality and taste. It sits well with Audi under the banner of VW – they have owned it since 1998 – because Audi expresses the habits and longings of a similar class in Germany. If British functionality is only a pleasant memory now, it makes me appreciate the new GTC Speed, a convertible in Alpine Green, much more.
Bentley won Le Mans five times, most recently in 2003, the year the Continental GT, now in its fourth incarnation, was born. If car writers were also astrologers – and they should be, for car love sits as much in the unconscious as the numbers of the spec sheet, which tell you nothing tangible – they would name it auspicious, because it is. Bentley sales rose fivefold when it appeared, though it is now outsold by the Bentayga SUV, because people always want a view of the roundabout. I think it makes them feel safe. And this is the best GT yet, because it is a hybrid. There are some poor hybrids nowadays. This isn’t one of them.
This Continental has a 4.0-litre V8 engine: 591bhp – that means the effort of 591 medium (I assume) horses – and 590lb ft of torque. Fair enough. I suppose they could be little horses. I don’t really know. But under the floor is an electric motor that adds another 188 horses of unknown size and 332lb ft of torque: enough to power a small car by itself. Together this adds up to 771 horses and 738lb ft, which is functionally insane. It has more power than the outgoing 6.0-litre W12 engine, and it sounds better; and yet the weight distribution front to back is almost equal. The figures are basically the Brexit vote: and who would bemoan that here?
The Bentley is for people who work hard: the still responsible. Just enough flash. Not too much.
In practice this means that when you turn the engine on the GTC shoots forward with marvellous control. The vast 22inch wheels and the two and a half tonnes of weight – some of it battery – keep it tidy and flush to the ground: you can drive it dangerously quite safely. This is not a messy, throbby car with a big petrol fart for emphasis – for human being – though these too have their place. It shoots from 0-60mph in 3.2 seconds, has a top speed of 177 mph, and that’s not even the wacky part. We drove from London to Blackpool via Oxford and back: that’s half a thousand miles. The petrol cost £120: astounding fuel economy. It matters to the functional.
It eats motorways, of course: that’s the job of the grand tourer. It’s bliss to drive, and to be driven: we arrived less tired than when we started. When we cruised the Peak District and its granite knobs, we lowered the roof at 30 mph to stare at the animals. We saw no horses, but if we had they might recognise nearly 800 of their own.
The cabin has four seats: the functional aspirant upper-middle class don’t buy two-seater cars. They are too functional for that: they couldn’t live with themselves. The cabin is customised to close to £259,000 and, not having anything like that kind of money, I think it’s worth it. We have walnut fascia; green leather; cream piping; heated armrests; adjustable seat bolsters; hide trimmed seat-belt buckles; a rotating display; mood lighting; deep pile overmats; embroidery. The only interior hint of this car’s aggression is the gearstick: it’s pleasingly huge and bulbous. There’s always a tell.
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