But that was enough to make you wonder whether it needed a transmission at all. Direct drive straight through the rear axle would be such an elegant solution. My favourite thing in a Mulsanne was to lock it in a high ratio – fifth or sixth – and then dispatch a long sweeping road without ever using more than 2,500rpm or being subjected to anything as offensive as a gearchange. And I was always amazed by how fast it could still go in such conditions.
Which is the other thing people don’t appreciate about the Mulsanne: despite its near 2.7 tonne mass, enormous wheelbase and pillowy spring rates, it really handles, at least in fast corners. And that’s another thing I’m really going to miss.
But most of all it’s just being in the thing. Years ago I flew in from a long hard trip and for some reason that has long escaped me, I had a Mulsanne in the long term car park. I can’t remember where I’d been or what I’d driven when I got there, but I recall in finest detail finding it at Gatwick in the middle of the night, its boot stuck out a couple of feet from its too small parking place, a light frost on its roof and realising that despite the fact I lived three hours away, I was already home.
So I hope Bentley will still make cars such as this. Cars with doors like bank vaults, wood that looks like great slabs of tree and every single component honed to the finest detail by master crafts men and women for whom nothing but the best will do. It takes around 375 hours to make a Mulsanne, which is around 37.5 times longer than it takes to make a family hatchback. I’m really going to miss it.