Gandini was instructed to rethink his four-seater GT ideas, and emerged with a new front-engined design. But to Ferrucio Lamborghini’s disapproval, this new V12 still made use of gullwing doors... Gandini returned to the drawing board

You could love this or hate it. On paper, there’s everything to love and only fuel consumption, a reputation for corrosion and hefty parts prices to hate. But in the metal, an Espada divides opinion like nothing else.

This car represents the culmination of a life-long dream for its owner, who first came across one in 1973 and lusted after it from that day on. It’s apparently a common affliction, for we’ve been inundated with enquiries about this feature ever since we first let on our plans for it three months back. But other readers have sent vehement hate mail on the Espada, outraged that we should consider publishing even the smallest picture of such a ‘monstrosity’.

There’s no right or wrong to it. How could there be? But the Espada, with virtually the same engine as a Miura, is overlooked and under-valued, with decent examples going for around £16,000 in the UK and ,000 in the US. Not a minor amount, but relatively small outlay for a 150mph four-seater supercar.
So here we are with one of the UK’s best Espadas, and I have to admit something from the start; that I’m afflicted with the great British love of the underdog, a bit of sympathy for the devil, and for me the Espada joins the ranks of cars that I quietly admire, even though I know I shouldn’t. That’s Ferrari 308 GT4, Porsche 914, Maserati Khamsin, Aston DBS...

Like the 308 GT4 and the Khamsin, the Espada was a product of the Bertone design house. Marcello Gandini, then a young, rising star at Bertone, had already worked closely with Lamborghini engineer Giampaolo Dallara on the Miura, but soiled his reputation with the Marzal prototype, a radical interpretation of how a four-seater GT Lamborghini should look.

With gullwing doors, a rear-mounted six-cylinder engine and stretched Miura chassis, the Marzal looked odd and handled badly. There was no way it could replace the idiosyncratic but stylish 400GT that occupied the company’s four-seater slot at that time. Instead, Ferrucio Lamborghini chose a less radical reworking of the 400GT – the Islero – by Mario Marazzi.

But Carrosserie Bertone couldn’t sit back and lose such a lucrative contract, so Gandini was instructed to rethink his four-seater GT ideas, and emerged with a new front-engined design. But to Ferrucio’s disapproval, this new V12 still made use of gullwing doors, to allow easier access to the rear seats. 

Ferrucio preferred conventional doors and folding front seats, and Gandini returned to the drawing board.
He quickly came back with a revised design, doing little more than swapping the gullwing doors for front-hinged equivalents. This is the design that became the Espada, named after a matador’s dagger – a further play on Lamborghini’s fighting bull logo. The small badges on the front wings depict a dagger.
The Espada was completed in time to be shown off at the 1968 Geneva Motor Show. It was powered by Lamborghini’s usual 3929cc, twin-overhead camshaft, 60-degree V12, seated four in comfort and, with 325bhp, was capable of 155mph and a 0-60mph acceleration of under eight seconds. Over the following ten years, 1217 Espadas were produced in Series I, II and III designations, making it one of Lamborghini’s most successful models. In contrast the Islero, initially sold alongside the Espada, sold just 125.

The car you see here is a Series III, generally thought of as the best version of the Espada. At the risk of appearing to be an Espada bore, let me quickly tell you that the Series I, or 400GT, built from March 1968 to November 1969, is known for its hexagonal instrument console shape (similar to the ill-fated Marzal’s), vertical slats on the lower rear window and centre-lock Miura wheels. The Series II (400GTE, December 1969 to November 1972) lost the oddball dash, gained extra ventilation for the rear passengers, five-bolt wheels, ventilated disc brakes all round and optional power steering, as well as receiving a boost from 325 to 350bhp.

So then we get into the Series III (built until 1978) and why not use the car here as an example? The first impression is of size, its 1.86m (6ft 1in) width swallowing up all available road space. And the shape... well, it’s bizarre of course, an odd mixture of muscular curves (like over the rear wheelarches) and incredibly large, flat panels, while the narrow front snout and long, tapering rear overhang suggest a little clumsiness from some angles. But – and this is a cliché I know – it does look better in the metal than in pictures. It’s deeply imposing, aggressive from the front and surprisingly delicate at the rear.
Compared with a Series I or II, its appearance differs in the detail only.

The front grille treatment is a little neater and the rear lights more rectangular, incorporating reverse lights rather than having them hang under the bumper. US models were fitted with larger ‘impact’ bumpers, which became standard equipment on all Espadas after 1976, but this car still has the slim bumpers. They’re beautifully formed in stainless steel, with perfect sharp creases and deep shine.
Inside, there’s an all-new dash that wraps around the driver. It curves round from the centre console, lessening the flight deck effect of the earlier cars’ central panel and edging far enough away from the driver to make it feel a long way off. That’s no bad thing, it just adds to the general feel of airiness in the cabin, with its masses of glass, thin pillars and low door tops, widely spaced seats and, of course, all that space behind you – there really is a lot of room for back seat passengers and plenty of luggage behind them.

I could loll around in those lovely leather seats, click-clack the chunky rocker switches on and off over and over again, and just stretch out in the charismatic space. But I want to know how the famous Lamborghini V12 will sound in the Espada, having experienced it bellowing behind my head in a Miura.
It starts after a powerful-sounding second-long churn on the starter. It catches, revs to the tune of a deep, smooth roar then settles down to a perfect idle. At no point can the sound of an individual cylinder be heard.

The clutch is heavy and the gearlever needs a long, firm movement to engage first. Through the gearknob I can feel the synchromesh working, unfussed, doing its own thing at its own speed (this is not a gearchange to be rushed).  I’m expecting waves of torque from the 4-litre engine but, although the car pulls away without needing much in the way of revs, it would clearly benefit from a heavier right foot to make the most of its 365bhp (up from 350bhp for the Series III).

There’s a little hesitation, roughness even, as it moves off, which is simply the six individual Weber carburettors taking it in turns to move off their idle jets and onto throttle control, which they should do in synchronicity – but keeping six Webers perfectly synchronised really isn’t possible for long.

What follows next is this: the Espada moves off at a reasonable speed accompanied by an unreasonable (albeit enjoyable) amount of noise. With electric windows up, the soundtrack is dominated by a deep, bellowing intake roar but wind down a window and the twin exhausts take over, to great effect. On every gearchange the car dips up and down slightly, like a boat over gentle waves, while the speed builds up to 70mph and way beyond. Only after several miles does it become obvious that the best way to drive this machine is to forget its Grand Touring tag and rev it harder, pushing it a long way past 4000rpm, at which point the engine takes a harder, more aggressive note and the car heads for the horizon at a noticeably more rapid rate.