that ferrari

In the spring of 2008, Tash and I were invited to Italy, to the home of Ferrari motor cars in the village of Maranello. It was a two-night trip, including a factory tour and dinner at Pavarotti’s old restaurant on the Saturday, followed by a second dinner in the ancient town of Modena on the Sunday. 

In the middle of all this was another auction, this time featuring only Ferraris and Ferrari-related merchandise.

The price for the whole trip was less than a thousand pounds a head. I told Tash I would love to go and she said she would be more than happy to come with me. Once on the plane, a privately chartered jet, the talk was only of cars, since all twenty people on board were on the same trip. JC was there, of course, having now jumped back into the market Full time after kissing his polo-playing days goodbye.

Everyone was already excitedly talking about the auction and what they might or might not bid for. Some had deeper pockets than others, but they all sounded like they might be up for something. And of course there was lots of discussion concerning the ‘lead car’.

The lead car at an auction is the car they put on all the posters and the front of the catalogue to promote the sale, and when it comes to an auction like this one it has to be something very special. The auctioneers were in no mood to disappoint; they had somehow acquired the former property of Hollywood legend James Coburn – his stunning black Ferrari 250 Short Wheel Base California Spyder. I knew this was some car, but not for a second, sitting on the tarmac at Farnborough airport flicking through pictures of it, did I think I would come to own it by Sunday evening. I wasn’t even considering bidding on any car, let alone that one! All I wanted to do was have a couple of days away with my wife, enjoy some nice wine and food, and see the factory where dreams come true.

I’d like to say the next forty-eight hours were a blur but I remember almost every second. The factory tour was fascinating For me and just about bearable for Tash, as she became the main attraction for many of the young Ferrari mechanics. Pavarotti’s restaurant, where we adjourned afterwards, was so typically Italian it was brilliant, with shiny tiled floors, big tables and mountains of food. Italy began to work its magic on us – after a late night and a lie-in of course! And I suppose that was the point of the whole trip.

It was almost midday on Sunday by the time we made it down to the foyer to grab a taxi back to the factory where the auction was being held. I don’t know what happened to me in the next few hours but it was as though I had been possessed. As soon as we arrived back at the gates of Maranello, I began to think about the Coburn Car. Whilst Tash went to grab a much-needed coffee – not her usual frothy white but rather a fuel-injected double espresso, I crept off to have a quiet drool over the black beauty.

The California Spyder has often been described as ‘the most beautiful car ever made’ and now I could see why. Inspired by the sunshine of America’s West Coast and designed by the descendants of da Vinci – and with a whole heap of horsepower under the bonnet – this car combined the best of all possible worlds for a Ferrari fanatic like me.

As my inspection melted into admiration and then into love, I began to have a serious word with myself. I might not be able to afford the mighty GTO but I could probably just about afford this little belter – at a stretch. A very long stretch, as proved to be the case come hammer time. I had to apply some logic to justify what I was about to do (I don’t know why – I just felt I should). The logic I plumped for was that I had once been able to buy a GTO but could no longer do so. Therefore, if I didn’t go for the Cal Spyder now, what if they too went the way of the GTO? Plus – if I needed an additional argument – they always say buy the best of the best and forget the rest and the Coburn Car had a history to die for. James Coburn had owned this car for over twenty-five years, after his good pal, renowned car nut and subsequent frequent passenger Steve McQueen, recommended he buy it.

The estimate for the Cal was between $4 million and $6 million. JC had reserved us three seats on the front row but still had no idea I was going to bid for the car. I leaned over, in between other bids from earlier lots, to inform him of my intention.

‘You’ve got to be joking,’ he said. ‘It’s due up in ten minutes. Why the hell didn’t you tell me, we could have prepared a strategy?’
‘I’ve only just decided,’ I whispered.
‘Chris, nobody decides to bid for the lead car in an auction like this without thinking about it for at least a few days beforehand, usually a month or two!’
Most of the big decisions in my life, as you’ve probably worked out by now, have been the result of impulse rather than planning.
‘So what do we do now?’ I whispered again.
‘Fuck! Give me a minute to think.’

John suggested we go in high and try to knock any other bidders out straightaway. It was a high-risk strategy, but one he said had paid off in the past. Pick your second-best bid, go in with that and have one more up your sleeve if you need it. If bidding carries on after that, you were never in with a shout anyway and you’re none the poorer for it – at least that’s the theory. The thing I have since learned about auction strategy is that once you’ve decided what yours is going to be, it’s important to stick to it. It was time.

‘Alright, the James Coburn California Spyder. Who will start with a bid of two million euros?’ barked the auctioneer.
The figure two million euros flashed up on a huge red screen behind the car, followed by its equivalent in sterling and dollars.
‘Four million,’ shouted John. There was a gasp from all around us.
‘Four million?’ exclaimed the auctioneer.
‘Four million euros,’ he repeated.

There was a deathly hush in the room as over a thousand voices fell silent. Something big was going down here and everyone in the room was about to witness it. This was the gamble, this was the moment. There were several other bidders in the room, plus perhaps seven or eight people participating via international telephone lines. Would this first bid – double what the auctioneer had asked for – be enough to scare them all off in one fell swoop?

The silence gradually gave way to a growing chorus of mutterings, as everyone tried to figure out what was going on. My heart was already thumping like a bass drum. JC, on the other hand, was in the zone, his eyes fixed on the auctioneer like an assassin waiting patiently to squeeze the trigger. It had been a good few seconds now, maybe ten, maybe even twenty, and still no one had proffered a counter-bid.

I looked over to where the phone lines were. I could see the various auction company assistants trying to explain to their frustrated clients that the first bid had been double what the auctioneer had asked for. Many of them were already hanging up, conceding defeat. A minute had passed and still no counter-bid was forthcoming.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, what am I to bid next?’
‘Just put the hammer down,’ shouted John. He wasn’t joking; he was prepared to use every tactic in the book,including heaping pressure on the auctioneer.
For that first minute, it really looked as if we had pulled it off. A few seconds more and the auctioneer would have been forced to close the lot, but then…
‘Four two-fifty,’ shouted a voice from the back of the room, almost instantly followed by, ‘Four million, five hundred thousand.’ With the deal almost in the bag, two bidders had woken up to what we were trying to do and were not prepared to be railroaded.
‘Fuck it!’ said John. ‘We’re done.’
And we were – according to our plan. The story had now moved on and the bidding was very quickly at five and a half million euros.
‘Can you lend me £2 million?’ I asked him.
‘Fuck, I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘I could probably get it.
Why?’ I didn’t have time to answer but that was all I needed to hear. When you’ve borrowed £85 million in the past, £2 million is a drop in the ocean.
‘Six million euros,’ I shouted. From nowhere, I was back in.

John almost passed out. Tash had long since turned pale, which is not easy considering her dark Persian complexion. I had upped the stakes yet again, in a final attempt to get my hands on Mr Coburn’s baby.

‘Are you crazy?’ hissed John under his breath.
We could see that the third bidder had now come off the phone, so where there had been two rival bidders there was now only one.
‘Ladies and gentleman, this car is now at a new world record for any automobile ever sold at auction,’ declared the auctioneer triumphantly. This solicited an almighty cheer and much applause from the crowd. We were now in a movie, but we were not alone.

‘Six two fifty!’ countered my nemesis, who was clearly as crazy over this car as I was. At this moment I knew the end was nigh and I remember suddenly feeling eerily calm and peaceful in a room verging on hysteria.
‘Alright,’ I said to myself. ‘How much do I want this car? I know I don’t have the money but I also know I can probably get it.’
The auctioneer was now looking at me as I’d taken over the bidding from John, who wanted no further part of it. This was my call now – what was I going to do?
Honestly, I had no idea. ‘Mr Evans, would you like to give us one more bid, or … are
… you… done?’ the auctioneer asked me directly.

And then I thought to myself, How often in life does a person get to buy a car like this? Sure, I don’t have the cash but that’s never stopped me before and who’s gonna want to know about the afternoon we ‘almost’ bought the most beautiful and expensive car in the world? That’s not a story I wanted to tell.

I made up my mind to go one more time. ‘Six million four hundred thousand euros,’ I said.
‘Six million four hundred thousand euros is Mr Evans’s bid and that, I believe, is his final bid.’
And it was, I promise. If the other bidder had gone just one hundred thousand more, to six and a half million, I would have bowed out gracefully. But they didn’t and, as the hammer came down, the car was mine.

All I had to do now was figure out how I was going to pay for it.