ON NOT MUCH MORE THAN A whim I toddled along to the Bentley Drivers Club annual Concours where I chanced upon a Gurney Nutting-bodied 6½-litre saloon from, I guess, around 1927. And what was so remarkable about it was that, in its own way, it was so very unremarkable. Because when most people think of a vintage Bentley, a vision of cyclewings, slotted bonnets secured by leather straps and open Vanden Plas bodywork with the obligatory Union Flag slapped to its sides swim before the eyes. So much so in fact it created a demand for such cars
