Aston Martin Victor review

We suspect it would be peerless on an empty autoroute, roaring at the horizon, stopping to top off the tanks, then doing it all over again. The suspension is firm and short travel, you sit very low, aware of how long the bonnet is and that your right hand is operating two different eras. Ahead the Vulcan’s radical steering yoke, to the right a walnut-topped manual gearlever. You think the clutch is going to be heavy, don’t you?

Congratulations, it is. But it’s not savage or abrupt. And you don’t need any throttle to get it rolling, it’s not the stall-fest you feared it would be. And that stubby gearlever moves around with weight and precision. It’s a great manual shift. Which means it comes as some surprise to learn it’s just the One-77's single-clutch sequential with the automation removed. The gearbox that is the One-77's Achilles' heel turns out to be the making of the Victor.

And if ever there was a British V12 to rival the Italians, here it is. Such torque and response low down (though it clearly doesn’t have excessive weight to move), and with a top end that just keeps going and going and going. Peak torque doesn’t arrive until 6,500rpm, max revs are 8,200rpm, but it’s not all about the top end. The mid-range is mighty, gutsy, urgent and above it this seemingly endless push of power and noise.

It doesn’t even sound like a Vulcan. The sonic thrash is mellower, deeper and more cultured. Still got side-exit pipes (Inconel, obvs), but unlike the racier V, doesn’t rely on them for tone and volume. But the inertia-free ability to zap to the redline and back in a blipping instant? That’s pure Vulcan. Analogue dials, that’s what I’d demand, just to watch the rev needle zing and flick about. That’s the biggest and most surprising change to this engine over the One-77: the internals seem massless, the flywheel effect practically zero.

Which makes blipping the throttle for heel and toe downshifts – or just for the hell of it – an utter delight. The pedal positions aren’t perfect, the throttle too far up the footwell compared to the brake, but heck, with a pedal box as bespoke as this, that’s an easy fix.

The manual opens up a whole new world of opportunity. With paddles you’re always up the top end because it’s easy, but with a lever you’re less inclined to be in such a hurry, to instead savour the experience. So you howl most of the way through second and then have time to regather your thoughts during the precision shove across the gate into third. Each gear becomes an event in itself, you visit more parts of the rev range because shifting is fun.

The carbon tub and suspension layout are shared with both predecessors, but the driving experience is more akin to the Vulcan. OK, there’s more movement in the higher-riding suspension. It rolls detectably, has a marginally softer brake pedal, a more forgiving ride. It steers accurately, beautifully because there’s proper feedback from the hydraulic steering. It can even be slid around because the traction breakaway is progressive and the long wheelbase means you have time to react.

But it’s definitely not a GT. Yes, it could howl through France, but it wouldn’t be a placid companion. It’s more old school than that, takes some managing and concentration. The brakes especially. They’re mighty powerful with a lovely firm pedal, but if you don’t give them everything they squeal like mad.

But what a thing this is to drive. Massively powerful engine, dextrous chassis balance, weight carried low, movements taut and athletic. And that manual gearbox. There’s nothing quite like this, hasn’t been for years in fact. It’s nothing like a DBS Superleggera – that’s way more cushioned and cosseting, but nor is the Victor as frenetic and lively as a Ferrari 812. Similarly focused drive, but more relaxed character. Needs to be used on road though. Let’s hope the owner agrees.