Collecting involves an element of addiction, of unreason. Once I acquired my first two targets, a Ferrari Testarossa and F512M, I was immersed in the world of Ferrari and desired more. Specifically, I needed to acquire the dream car of my young adulthood, as it was pitifully undervalued and I wondered how long it would remain so. This was the Ferrari 550 Maranello; also a V12 Ferrari, but with its engine in front, the Maranello was reputed to be less frenetic (though no less fast), more refined yet immensely fun, its spirit and design a hark back to the days of the Daytona, whose prices are rapidly approaching £1m for a pristine one.
The 550 had two great advantages over a Daytona or even a 512M: it had modern accoutrements like power steering and ABS; and it was practical. Rather than look like Don Johnson in Miami Vice, a 550 casts you in the role of a sophisticated, rakish charmer: David Niven in the original
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. For years, I have imagined myself blasting up to the gates of my home on the Corniche Moyenne between Cap Ferrat and Monaco in my 550, arm dangling out of the window, snicking the metal-gated manual lever home with panache.
The corniche may have to wait, but by the end of last year, I was convinced 550 prices had bottomed out, indeed, were starting to rise quite markedly. If it followed in the trajectory of its predecessors like the 512M, Berlinetta Boxer and Daytona, we'd see a doubling in 12 months, and they would be stratospheric in three years. I needed to act, fast, to secure my next investment. "Fantastic cars, they barely go wrong," was the verdict of one my gurus, Roger Collingwood at The Ferrari Centre in Kent. His wife Claire, also a mechanic, owned one which she drove every day. There are few better endorsements than buying a car your guru owns.
The challenges to buying one soon became obvious. While it's not one of the super-rare Ferraris - 3,083 were made, world-wide, between 1997 and 2001 - the 550 is not available in abundance and by the time I had the money ready, prices were already up. There's little more irritating than looking at a web page full of the same cars you were looking at three months previously, selling for 40 per cent more. And while there were plenty of good cars around, many had covered the kinds of mileage you would expect a grand touring car to cover. I wanted to keep mine for a long time and to optimize its value. I needed a dream car. Which meant, practically speaking, the lowest possible miles.
Cars appeared and disappeared online quickly, meaning they were in demand. Then, one morning, an alert from a website I subscribed to in Italy. 550 Maranello, only 4500 miles - almost nothing - being sold by the owner of a dealership, outside Rome.
The pictures showed a car that looked less than a year old, rather than 18 years. I ran to the phone. Engaged. I called again and again. Engaged. Googled the dealership, found a number for the service department, rang them, got transferred. No English; I was relieved for the Italian courses I took as a student. "Sorry," said a pleasant-sounding man, "the car is sold". Sold?
But your ad only went up 20 minutes ago! Yes, but another dealer called, he's on his way over and if it checks out, he'll take it.
And if he doesn't, there's another one on hold.
This wasn't a usual dealer's imaginary other customer; the chap sounded keen to get rid of me. Didn't even volunteer to take my number.
Technically, I told the chap, the car isn't actually sold. You may have someone coming to see it, but there has been no contract, no agreement, no money changing hands - it's not sold until then.
And it's not as if you have a verbal deal, because it's conditional on him seeing it and perhaps haggling. I, meanwhile, am an upstanding magazine editor from the UK, and I will agree to buy your car at the full price, subject to my own inspection; and moreover I can transfer a deposit right now, as long as I know some details to run them by friends at Ferrari.
I could hear the smile in his voice. He agreed. "But you have to come here and see the car yourself. Mr Mussoni, the owner, does not want to sell to someone who he does not meet". I said that if all went well, I would fly out the next evening, and meet them two days hence.
The car checked out fine on paper (and in the pictures) and I did an immediate transfer of the deposit. We had in writing that if I found something wrong, my deposit would be refunded and the transaction cancelled.
The next night, I found myself on an Easyjet flight to Italy, and grabbed a cab to the small seaside city, Civitavecchia, where I would meet the dealer the next morning. Eating a pizza accompanied by a half bottle of decent Brunello di Montalcino on the deserted seafront, I read and reread pages of notes of what to look out for when buying a 550, gleaned from the experts on the Ferrarichat.com forum. No mechanic, I was nervous: what if I missed a blinder? The vendor had offered to have the mechanic of my choice inspect, but I couldn't secure one on time from a Ferrari dealership in Italy.
The next day, at nine, Mr Mussoni, the dealer principal, was in the showroom to greet me. Mussoni Auto is a vendor of Fiats, Lancias and other popular Italian makes. Mr Mussoni's 550 had been in the showroom as a lure, and had stood, basically untouched, for several years in this warm, dry environment. (Which poses a few hazards in itself.) I looked at the car. It looked at me. It seemed pristine; no evidence to my amateur eyes of a respray. They put it on a ramp; the undertray had no marks or scratches or leaks. The interior was unmarked. The engine, well, it sounded fine, but I wouldn't be sure of knowing what isn't fine. I took a deep breath, shook his hand, and transferred the balance.
Mr Mussoni took me out to lunch with his son at a beachside restaurant; we talked of how hard it is to be an entrepreneur in Italy these days. Warm, charming people. He drove me to the airport, the service book, spare keys and receipts safely in my case. Roger Collingwood at The Ferrari Centre organized for the car to be picked up and taken home the following week, and now it sits, cocooned in his storage garage, its UK registration and service complete. Mr Mussoni told me later that between my deposit and my arrival he had several more calls offering more than I had paid. It would have been easy to refund my deposit, but that's not what a gentleman would do, and the 550 is a gentleman's car.
And already, it has been valued at £120,000, around 50 per cent more than my purchase price. My advice? Buy one while you can, and make sure it's a good one.
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