OK, whose cockamamie scheme was this? The vistas are sensational, as befits a house atop a big-boned mountain. They should be, given that the owner once operated the Orient Express. It is extremely tranquil here, the palatial gardens ending somewhere above the clouds; the bit where you are advised not to walk in case you upset the wild boars. Heaven forbid. None of this is remotely of interest right now, mind, not least because the driveway has 90º angles and the sort of incline where ideally you would have a bit of a run-up first. About a mile or so should do it.
As such, this is not the ideal location to become au fait with a 1930 Rolls-Royce Phantom II. It is cosy in here, despite the enormous dimensions. The view through the shallow windscreen comprises mostly sky, and the sun is glinting off its unpainted aluminium bonnet like the refraction of a diamond. The car emits only the faintest of burbles, as is to be expected, and it’s a case of right full rudder and up, aiming for the narrowest of entrances. And finally we are through.
The Phantom II has the turning circle of an ocean liner yet – thankfully –
