Then, the apparently casual dinner invitation that takes the well-heeled guest to North London. Through iron gates, up a gravel drive, across beige carpets to the empty chair at a large glass-topped table. There they will meet, and may even be sat next to “the goods”.

And then, later, with a smile and the hint of a wink, the host moves towards the close: “You look like you could afford a million.” All performed with great charm and effortless polish but also with a quiet yet relentless insistence.

“He’s a master host, a complete pro and a terrier,” says one who has been on the receiving end of Lord Levy’s charms.

People joke that if you go to his fabulous house in Mill Hill you should “forget” to take your wallet. Most, though, play by the Levy rules. The result, more often than not, is another five, six or seven-figure cheque for the Labour Party.

Lord Levy has been performing his fundraising wonders for Tony Blair for more than a decade, achieving a status previously unknown in Labour Party history. Businessmen with an interest in oiling the wheels of democracy, whether driven by political loyalty, personal advancement or both, used to dial Conservative Central Office. Labour’s cheques were written by union officials; people such as Jack Dromey of the Transport and General Workers’ Union.

Indeed, it is no coincidence that someone of Mr Dromey’s standing has been the one to cause the Prime Minister such discomfort by blowing the whistle on Labour’s loans scandal. Although nominally on the same side, Lord Levy and the unions have been playing to different ends.

Lord Levy’s greatest achievement has been to allow Mr Blair to marginalise the influence of the unions over Labour. Mr Blair was clear about the politics from the beginning of his leadership — Labour could not hope to be elected if voters believed that union general secretaries would end up pulling the strings. And Labour would not be able to govern in the way that Mr Blair wanted if he regularly had to entertain union guests at No 10 with beer and sandwiches.

But without financial independence from the unions, such a political goal was impossible. Lord Levy has provided the financial revolution without which the New Labour project could not have got off the ground.

The revelation that Labour managed to attract an astonishing £14 million in private loans from wealthy donors to help Mr Blair to win his historic third general election victory last year should have been one of Lord Levy’s proudest moments. The Man with the Midas Touch had more than lived up to one of his many sobriquets. Instead, it is threatening irredeemably to colour Mr Blair’s final phase in office.

Michael Levy and Tony Blair come from very different backgrounds. A top-flight private school and a wealthy college even by Oxford standards were a world away from the single room with no bath in which Mr Levy lived in the East End of London until the age of 9.

But despite the nine years in age difference, both men were shaped by a decade, the Seventies. While Mr Blair was dreaming of becoming a rock star, and failing, Mr Levy, an accountant in the entertainment industry, was living at least a version of that fantasy. Indeed, even today, with his immaculate bouffant, platform heels and gold signet rings, Lord Levy looks as if a part of him has not escaped the Seventies.

Had Ugly Rumours, Mr Blair’s group, ever made the grade, in name at least they would have fitted in well at Mr Levy’s Magnet Records, where Bad Manners were part of the stable. It was Alvin Stardust and Chris Rea whose success allowed Mr Levy to sell Magnet Records to Warner Brothers in 1988 for £10 million.

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