Citroën C6 3.0 V6 Pallas

France has always had a problem with the rest of the world: it simply refuses to do what everyone else does. Where the Germans build their flagships as if designing a tank that accidentally turned out comfortable, and the British wrap everything in leather and walnut until it smells like a gentlemen's club in Pall Mall, the French did something far more daring.

They built cars the way only they dared to. Floating on hydropneumatic suspension, with a dashboard that looked designed by someone who had just returned from a modern art exhibition, and with an attitude of "we know what comfort is, and you clearly don't.

The DS did it. The CX did it. The XM did it. And then, in 2005, when everyone assumed Citroën had buried the idea of the big, wilful flagship saloon for good beneath a mountain of Picassos and Xsaras, out of nowhere came the C6. A car that left you wondering, at the Geneva Motor Show, whether you were looking at a concept car or at something you could actually buy.

That rear window curving inwards. That profile that resembles nothing else, and only if you squint can you make out a distant hint of a CX. A presidential limousine for people who feel an S-Class is just a touch too much a status symbol and just a touch too little a statement.

And that was precisely the problem. Chirac rode in one. The French state bought them by the fleet. But the average buyer who would otherwise have wandered into a Mercedes or BMW showroom looked at that eccentric Frenchman and walked right past. A shame. Because whoever did climb aboard got, automatically, more character than any Instagram coach could ever try to sell you.

Right, back to the C6 on offer here. And not just any one: the 3.0 V6 Pallas, the version in which Citroën pulled out all the stops. 215 bhp from a smoothly humming straight-six, mated to an automatic that shifts as though embarrassed to let you notice. Gris thorium metallic, a colour that is grey one day and something between silver and gunmetal the next, depending on how the British light happens to fall.

On 18-inch wheels with Michelins beneath. Leather upholstery. Five seats, of which the rear two are more comfortable than most first-class train seats I know.

The best part comes the moment you step in. The Hydractive suspension, the successor to the hydropneumatics people write books about, lifts you up and sets you down as if on a cloud. Bad roads cease to exist. Speed bumps become suggestions. You glide over the M25 as though the motorway had been freshly resurfaced just for you. And then that V6: no vulgar roar, but a civilised, silken crescendo you feel more than hear.

This is not a car for the hairpin at Brands Hatch. This is a car for the long haul, for the run down to the South of France, for the moment you realise you still have four hours to go and that this is turning into the best part of the day.

Granted, the C6 never became a sales success. In seven years Citroën built fewer than 24,000 of them, which makes it these days a curiosity you rarely encounter on the road. Which is exactly why this is one to cherish. A car once ignored for being different, and now admired for that very same reason.

France built one last genuine grand Citroën. And here it stands, as though it had been waiting for you.

Notable features:

• 3.0 V6 petrol engine, 2,995 cc, 215 bhp
• Pallas trim
• Hydractive suspension for unrivalled ride comfort
• Gris thorium metallic
• Full stamped service history
• Rare: fewer than 24,000 examples built worldwide
• Presidential rear bench with first-class legroom
• Margin car

With the crumbs of a pain au chocolat still on my keyboard

Nick Slinger

Copywriter · HooG Selections