I have no idea what happened when Lord Levy raised funds for the Labour Party. I don’t know what he said to would-be donors. I don’t know what, if anything, he offered them. I don’t know what, if anything, they demanded in return. Nor do you. Nor do the police. Nor does anyone, except Lord Levy and the people to whom he spoke. But that hasn’t stopped almost everyone from assuming that something fishy has been going on.

So let’s reiterate what has happened. The Metropolitan Police have conducted an exhaustive 16-month investigation, have submitted their report to the Crown Prosecution Service, and no charges have been brought. And that’s it.

Throughout all the acres of coverage, bear that in mind. So why the assumption throughout this whole affair that sleaze is at the bottom of it? One word: wealth. OK, two words: personal wealth.

Lord Levy had a particular skill at attracting “high-value donors”, as Labour termed them. Rich people, in other words. Had he been in charge of attracting other donors – oh, let’s say trade unions, shall we? – and had he offered them legislation in return for their money, no police inquiry would have followed. No allegations of corruption would have followed. We know that, because none of the Labour members present at a meeting with trade unions at the University of Warwick in July 2004 has been arrested, or even investigated. Yet the upshot of that meeting was an explicit deal: unions would carry on affiliating to – and thus funding – Labour and, in return, the Government would frame policy with regard to public service reform and pensions as the unions demanded. Not cash for honours: cash for policy.

So organisations with a clear record of demanding favours in return for funding can pretty much do as they wish. When it comes to individuals with money, however, we instantly jump to the conclusion that they’re up to no good. They’re in it for themselves. They’re on the take.

Yet the evidence indicates the opposite. One of the first areas to come under suspicion by the police – an arrest was even made – was the idea of donors to city academies being given honours in return. Leave aside the point that such philanthropy is, surely, precisely the behaviour that should be rewarded. History suggests that there a many reasons why the wealthy endow schools – such as enshrining their good name, giving something back to their community or pure altruism. Corruption? Come off it. But the reaction to donors to city academies is, from many of us, to sneer.

Find a wealthy man or woman, and – inherited wealth apart – it’s a near-certainty that you have found someone with exceptional skills. Their money didn’t just turn up – they had to create a business, employ people and generate wealth. And in doing that, they do more for the common good than any politician. Indeed, find a modern politician and chances are you have found someone of, at best, mediocre calibre. So you might have thought that it makes sense to encourage men and women with exceptional skills to enter politics – to bring those skills to public service.

Take Paul Drayson. A successful entrepreneur, he founded Powderject Pharmaceuticals and turned it into one of the leading vaccine companies in the world. In 2004 he took a peerage and in 2005 became a defence procurement minister. It’s difficult to think of a better candidate for such a job. Government is notoriously lousy at procurement deals with business. Who better than a poacher turned gamekeeper to sort these deals out. But instead of being welcomed, his appointment was greeted as an example of sleaze, because he had donated generously to Labour – and his company had been awarded a large government contract. Yes, it might well have been an example of “sleaze”. Equally not. But the media’s mind was not open.

Is it any wonder that the most talented businessmen and women stick to business instead of turning later in life to public service? Imagine if it was announced that Sir Terry Leahy, the chief executive of Tesco and possibly the most able businessman in the country, was entering the Government. The contempt would be unbridled. So the likes of Sir Terry steer well clear of politics, and our political life is poorer as a result.

When Gordon Brown set out to bring new blood into the Government, the closest he could get to a businessman was a former business lobbyist, Sir Digby Jones.

Not, of course, that great wealth necessarily makes people suitable for public office. Step forward, Silvio Berlusconi. But wary as one should be of anyone in public life, the default position in reaction to businessmen is to assume that they are all budding Berlusconis.

This is not just a British disease. In the US, Michael Bloomberg was first dismissed as a dilettante politician, then attacked for wanting to buy the office of Mayor of New York because, heaven forbid, he used his own money to fund his campaign.

We get the politicians we deserve. And when we react to wealthy men and women who wish to enter the fray as if they are all on the edge of criminality, we are the losers.

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