Road Test: Volvo C70 2.5 T 2dr Auto

It's good to see the return of the grand tourer - a big, well-equipped, long-legged motor that can whisk you across a continent quickly and painlessly, allowing you to arrive at your Tuscan villa or Prague apartment in some style. But you wouldn't have expected Volvo, maker of big, square cargo-carrying battlecruisers, to produce one of the better efforts.

However, the handsome Volvo C70 more than holds its own with the Mercedes CLK and the Peugeot 406 Coupe at the upper-middle end of the GT class. And now it's slightly more affordable, which is good news for those of us who like the idea of blasting down to Cannes for the weekend but don't yet have a yacht moored there.

The new C70 2.5T is a couple of grand cheaper than the existing T5 version, and has correspondingly lesser performance; its 193bhp light-pressure turbocharged five-cylinder engine will hurl it to 60mph in 7.8 seconds, compared to its 240bhp big brother's 6.9.

Yet it doesn't feel particularly slow. Though it's a big heavy car, throttle response is crisp and it eases away from other traffic satisfyingly well, even in fifth gear. There's a throaty, if muffled, rasp from the engine when you start acting like a hooligan, but it doesn't feel at all stretched, even at full whack.

Like the T5, it betrays its front-drive layout by squirming and shimmying its wheels when you gas it hard, but the TRACS traction control system, which comes with the optional GT Pack, keeps that fairly well under control.

Handling is safe and secure, if not exactly in the Lotus Elise class; all those road testers' cliches like 'understeer sets in at the limit of adhesion' no doubt apply, but on public roads in the intermittent drizzle of Scotland I wasn't going to go looking for the limit of anything. Particularly as those wide tyres hold the road well enough to mean that you'd be going fast enough to make your accident a really spectacular one if you did suddenly find out where grip ended and skating began.

But, being a GT, this car isn't about scrabbling your way round tight corners - it's about sitting in a heated, electrically-adjustable leather seat listening to a superb stereo and enjoying the cool breeze from the climate- controlled air-con while wafting along at a good, but not excessive, speed.

You might well prefer, for instance, to have an auto gearbox, particularly as the manual version's gearchange is not exactly super-slick and the gearstick is so close to the centre console that the large-knuckled will be continually switching on the hazards or changing the radio station as they shift into third gear. The side bolsters on the seats, while supportive, get in the way of your elbow when you're shifting, too.

The glacier-slow sliding of the front seats when you want access to the surprisingly roomy rear also irritates, and the lack of an external button for the enormous boot might niggle a bit, as might the fact that other drivers flash their lights at you all the time because the running lights are ultra-bright and look as though you've left your headlights on. You can turn off the running lights in a Volvo, though - a tiny screw by the control knob disables them.

No, all of these things might be mildly grotty, but the manual gearbox would be a major pain. No doubt about it - you should pay an extra £1,100 and get the automatic 'box.

You should also shell out the extra for the Dolby ProLogic hi-fi. With its ten speakers, including one perched on top of the dash, and its breathtakingly complicated three-CD changer (a six-CD one is also available), it should sound good. And it does.

The GT Pack, which adds £3,500 to the price, is worth getting, too, to complete the grand touring feel; it includes bits of wood scattered about, leather trim, a trip computer, cruise control, traction control, climate control and probably mission control as well. Mind you, the leather upholstery in our car was an unappetising black and brown combination which was like sitting on an enormous liquorice allsort.

And talking of looks, you really should go for metallic orangey-brown or smart silver paintwork to show off the C70's subtle curves. Dark blue or Volvo's sludgy maroon make it look like a bloated Vectra from many angles.

You can get a lowered sports chassis (an extra £215) if you want to stiffen up the handling, and enormous 18-inch alloys (£600) to really give it some street cred. And, though it's another £2,500, the Road Traffic Information system which combines satellite navigation with traffic info would be useful for the high-mileage executive.

All of which is an awful lot of money. The basic C70 2.5T is £30,455 on the road (the T5 version's exactly £2,000 more), but well over five grand's worth of options can be added to that without even trying. Yes, you could buy a 2.5, add nothing at all and sneak out of the showroom for just over 30 grand - nobody would know, as Volvo hasn't badged either version - but what's the point? If you're buying a big, handsomely understated grand tourer, you may as well have all the toys too.

Which rather negates the point of this 2.5T version. The C70 is already an expensive car; if you're paying over £30,000, what's another two grand to get the top version instead of the second string? Significantly less pricey, and the 2.5T might have been a good idea. As it is, it's pleasant but pointless.