Krug, girls and £1,000,000 bets

'What I like most about casinos is the glamour,' says Jay Maggistro leaning across a powder-blue gaming table, eyes glued to the spinning roulette wheel. The ball clatters home, Maggistro shrugs, then pushes forward another pile of chips - rather larger than the last one. Welcome to the high-rolling world of London's Mayfair casinos; bastions of exclusivity where blowing £1 million in an evening barely raises an eyebrow.

Last March, much was made of the review of UK gaming laws; how Britain could soon have its own Las Vegas-style resort casinos with unlimited slot machines and live entertainment 24 hours a day. These changes may impact gambling habits in the provinces but they won't touch this rarefied district of London casinos - in particular, the streets, squares and parked Bentleys that lie immediately to the east of Park Lane. Home to half of the capital's 23 casinos, it is the Golden Mile of grown-up gambling.

'There is a fantastic buzz around these casinos,' enthuses Maggistro, 'and everyone has a story to tell; they all have money, for a start. It's a great night out whether or not you look like a million dollars.' Maggistro looks like several. From his gold Cartier watch (£35,000, 'a present from my brother') to his £1,000 Gucci suit, the 38-year-old entrepreneur's style is pure Eurocash. 'Monte Carlo is my favourite casino because I have good luck there. When I went with my wife Belina [a former model] and a few London friends, I won more than £120,000.'

A trifling amount for Maggistro - this year, he poured £25 million of his own money into a venture that may change the nocturnal habits of London's rich and famous. His nightclub, No 5 (at 5 Cavendish Square, due to open in August) is being billed as the next Annabel's, though a better comparison might be Versace meets Ian Schrager's Studio 54.

'There are 2,000 millionaires in London,' says Maggistro. 'When they want a decent night out, where do they go?' At the moment, Maggistro's restless playboy clientele is drawn to Mayfair's moneyed heart. Here you'll find the The Clermont Club, at 44 Berkeley Square, founded by the late John Aspinall. Original members include five dukes, five marquesses, 20 earls and 'Lucky' Lord Lucan. A few streets away is Crockfords, where caviar and Krug run freely for those who patronise the 'salles priv?s' - private suites reserved for the super-wealthy.

Next door is Aspinalls - run by John Aspinall's son Damian, who is currently dating Donna Air. Wednesday-night poker games attract a younger, hipper clientele which rubs shoulders with the super-wealthy, including nightclub owner Piers Adam and Camilla Parker Bowles's nephew Ben Elliot. Robbie Williams is said to be a regular, as are Jude Law and Kate Moss. Footballers and celebrities love places like the Ritz because they won't be asked for autographs - and they know there won't be any photographers. Top-drawer casinos jealously guard the identities of members.

As I pass through the stuccoed portico of Crockfords in Curzon Street, the top-hatted doorman eyes me suspiciously. 'I'm here to see Tony Pearce,' I say, relying on the name of the gaming director to get me through the door. It works - and I am led deferentially into the bar of one of the most prestigious casinos in the world, housed in an elegant Georgian mansion dripping with chandeliers hanging from ceilings decorated by Josiah Wedgwood. Monday is backgammon night and the ground floor is filled with intense men sitting at diamond-patterned boards and smoking with a vengeance. I'm surprised to see none wearing ties. Whatever happened to the 007 tuxedos? 'A lot of clients are from the Middle East and have never worn a tie,' Pearce explains. 'It's not something they feel comfortable with, so we don't insist on it. We're fairly relaxed about the dress code.'

Ascending the sweeping staircase to the restaurant, the relaxed air vanishes. 'Number 200 is at the Colony Club,' a waiter warns, and Pearce checks for messages on his mobile phone. 'There's a high-roller in town,' he says - which means one of the 40 or 50 super-rich gamblers who frequent the casinos of Mayfair, easily parting with £1 million in an evening.

Worldwide, there are fewer than 200 of these high-stakes players, upsetting the bank balances of the big casino conglomerates. Some, like Australian media mogul Kerry Packer, are 'hit-and-run' gamblers playing with stakes of £100,000 or more, disappearing with their winnings before the house can win them back. In 1996, this whale of 'whales' - the American term for high-roller - won £15 million at two casinos in Las Vegas, using his 'strike-and-scatter' strategy of betting large amounts on several tables at once. Only the Sultan of Brunei and the Saudi Arabian arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi are in anywhere like the same league - though London property tycoon 'Black Jack' Dellal (net worth £800 million) and British entrepreneur Philip Green (rescuer of the Sears clothing group) are said to share Mr Packer's knack of winning more than they lose.

In September 1999, however, the Australian's luck briefly deserted him. Though Pearce will neither confirm nor deny it, Packer reportedly lost £7 million at Crockfords in a three-week period - the biggest known gambling loss in Britain. Other high-rollers, such as Syrian-born Fouad al-Zyat (known in casino circles as 'The Fat Man'), are more typical of the gambler's lot - returning to the tables time and again until they've lost everything. In February, the Ritz casino announced it was suing Mr al- Zyat for £2 million of debt - amassed from losses at roulette and cards - after a series of his cheques bounced. Court papers revealed that the entrepreneur had laid bets of £21 million at the Ritz since he became a member in 1998.

Now, the casino has obtained a court order to freeze his assets - including a private Boeing 727 and a £158,000 Rolls-Royce. 'I know it is wrong to lose money like this,' al-Zyat told the Evening Standard from his offices in Cyprus, 'but if you have ever been to a casino, you will understand what the atmosphere is like.'

Even in the restaurant at Crockfords, there is a certain frisson. As I order mezes and a Middle Eastern salad flavoured with lemon and mint (when at Crockfords, dine as the locals do), I wonder who these wealthy people are. At the table opposite, four youngish businessmen - perhaps Iranian or Lebanese - are talking about girlfriends and family feuds. They don't look much like high-rollers. To our left, two elderly Europeans - she in gold earrings and an Herm?s scarf, he in an electric wheelchair - are finishing dinner with coffee and petits fours.

In line with London's current gambling laws, each will have joined Crockfords 24 hours before their first visit. Though most will have qualified for 'honorary' membership, those who failed to meet the right criteria will have paid £300 - a snip compared to the £1,000 at the Ritz, Les Ambassadeurs and 50 St James. 'We look at things like your address,' says Pearce, 'the car you arrive in and which other casinos you are a member of. We want gamblers, because that is how we make our money.'

Maybe not tonight, though. 'Excuse me one moment,' says Pearce, dabbing his mouth and leaving the table as his phone vibrates discreetly. 'Eight is on the way,' I hear another waiter say. Somewhere in a distant salle priv?, a second big spender has arrived. 'He won £250,000 and left,' Pearce confirms a few minutes later, refusing even to hint at the gambler's identity. 'There were two tonight, in a similar league - but the one at the Colony Club didn't gamble. He just had dinner with his wife.'

The late John Aspinall was once asked how many high-rollers he depended on to maintain the Clermont's profits. 'Fewer than this,' he said, holding up ten fingers. Later, he admitted his casino was kept afloat by one person - a Kuwaiti who had gambled £93 million in two years.

Though the gaming clubs are fiercely loyal to their members, the arrangement is rarely reciprocal. In Mayfair, high-rollers will defect to a rival simply because they are losing. 'They might play at five casinos in a night,' says an insider, 'one in each group because that's where they have credit.'

For their own part, the mega-gamblers have every reason to be secretive. Some run multinational companies and are accountable to shareholders - and openly throwing away millions doesn't inspire confidence. Many are devout Muslims, for whom gambling is forbidden by Holy Law. Gambling is also viewed as an addiction akin to alcohol or drugs. 'I'm not surprised they are guarded about it,' says Gary Andrews of London Clubs International, owner of Les Ambassadeurs and 50 St James. 'Losing £5 million in an evening is fairly decadent.' As we tour 'Les A' (as it's known to aficionados), he shows me the salles priv?s and tells me who today's high-rollers are. 'In the Seventies,' he says, 'we had the first generation of oil-rich Arabs. The second generation spent more time here and went to the best schools. They tend to gamble with property, with stocks and shares. Now we are seeing more of the Far Eastern high-roller, especially the Chinese. They are the world's biggest gamblers.'

In the opulent gaming room of the Ritz Club, set in a glorious Edwardian ballroom with neo-Renaissance friezes and a favourite table where Edward VIII and Mrs Simpson sat, the Oriental trend is clear. At the blackjack table, a trio of Malaysian businessmen are scrutinising the long-legged female croupiers, to the emotive sound of constantly shuffled chips - like the roar of shingle. Further evidence is provided at the bar, where I leaf through a menu featuring Chinese, Asian and Thai dishes. 'When the King of Thailand comes here,' says Costis Zarifeh, the casino's director of customer relations, 'he likes his food cooked in the authentic Thai way.'

Though alcohol is strictly banned in all British gaming rooms (another rule due to be relaxed shortly), the 'exclusive' Ritz bar is surprisingly full. Even for those who aren't shuttling between their Laurent-Perrier and the roulette wheel, it provides a safe haven. Al Pacino is sometimes spotted here, as are Lord Attenborough and Bryan Ferry. Like high-rollers, what they value most is watertight security and discretion - unmatched anywhere else in the world. The gaming tables are scrupulously policed; staff vetted to guard against corruption. What's more, Mayfair - unlike some other casino meccas - allows its gamblers to squander millions away from prying eyes.

'This is our jewel,' says Zarifeh, leading me into the most luxurious salle priv? I have visited. The d?cor is a cross between a Belgravia drawing room and the Burj al Arab in Dubai (a spectacular, gilt-and-marble hotel owned by Sheikh Mohammed) and the sumptuous bathrooms and tables strewn with women's glossies suggest the suite is wife-friendly, too.

'It is a bit over-the-top,' Zarifeh admits, asking me not to be specific about the technology inside. 'We'd like it to be a surprise,' he says, 'rather than something our guests read about in the press.' I ask about the minimum stake required to gamble in this room, and hold my breath. 'It is £1m,' says Zarifeh, proudly. 'There are only 50 people in the world who qualify.'

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