She dreamed of joining the super-rich

All Joyti De-Laurey wanted to do was make money. She was convinced from an early age that she deserved more than the modest surroundings of her north London childhood. But she could hardly have dreamed of one day accumulating a £ 4.4 million fortune, stolen entirely from her City bosses.

Her early career was not auspicious. One dead-end job led to another, until her exuberant personality landed her a sales role at an Aston Martin showroom in east London. For the first time De-Laurey was brought into contact with the world of the super-rich - a world she desperately wanted to be part of.

The extraordinary fraud she went on to perpetrate, using her wiles and organisational brilliance, was a far cry from her modest upbringing in Hampstead. She was raised by ambitious parents who emigrated from India during the Sixties. Her mother Devi Schahhou was a doctor and her father Mukkeisch an accountant.

Even as a girl De-Laurey displayed signs of avarice. A former classmate at private South Hampstead High said: "Jot's parents lived in a modest flat in Primrose Hill, but Jot felt she wanted a lot more."

Another schoolfriend said: "Jot was clever but never one of the class's most gifted pupils. She didn't seem interested in going to university. She wanted to earn money as soon as she could."

The Aston Martin job paid a pittance, but being surrounded by luxury cars and mixing with wealthy clients sharpened her desire for the high life.

In May 1995 De-Laurey married twicedivorced £22,000-a-year chauffeur Anthony De-Laurey, 15 years her senior. One of the three ceremonies took place in Las Vegas and was conducted by an Elvis Presley lookalike.

Their only child, a boy, Max, was born two years later and the family moved to a semi in Cheam. After a botched business venture - a sandwich shop in Redhill - De-Laurey started work, in May 1998, as a temp at Goldman Sachs on a basic salary of £28,000.

Despite personal debts of more than £24,000, bringing her to the brink of bankruptcy, De-Laurey soon made her name as one of the best secretaries in the Square Mile. She was a brilliant organiser, a quality which, according to former colleagues, helped her set out on her criminal career.

"The level of deception was terrifying," said one. "One minute we knew her as an amazing personal assistant, trusted by everyone, the next she was being arrested for fraud." Others described her as a "bold character" - she has a rose tattoo on her left breast - who took a shameless view of other people's assets.

One detective said: "She was rubbing shoulders with investment bankers and saw no reason why she didn't deserve some of their money."

Her first victims were Ron Beller and his wife Jennifer Moses, both managing directors at Goldman Sachs, who trusted her so much they had given her a £40,000 interest-free loan to buy a house.

But in December 2000 De-Laurey showed her appreciation by forging her first cheque, for £4,000, on her bosses' personal account. She then waited more than six months before trying again - this time for £26,000 from the same account.

BY the time the couple retired in 2001, De-Laurey had stolen £1.2 million without them realising. Mr Beller told the trial he was "an extremely wealthy man". Mr Beller, who blew more than £86,000 on "personal travel" and £17,000 on wine in 2000, trusted De-Laurey so much that when he noticed his bank account was "one or two million dollars light" he thought the error must be his.

De-Laurey's theft still had not come to light and he recommended her to new managing director Scott Mead.

Using the same method of forged cheques and false money transfers she went on to steal £3.3 million from Mr Mead - including a single transfer of £2.25million to set up her family in Cyprus. Her shopping sprees were legendary, spending hundreds of thousands of pounds on Chanel, Vuitton, Tiffany and Bulgari goods.

In Cyprus she bought a £750,000 villa, and staff at the Annabelle Hotel recall her boasting about owning a £170,000 power boat. Shortly before her arrest, De-Laurey placed an order for a £175,000 Aston Martin V12 Vanquish, on top of the £28,000 Saab convertible, £14,000 VW Golf and £30,000 Chrysler Grand Voyager already delivered.

When police called at the family home in North Cheam they found box after box of jewels from Sloane Street stores. Many items among the £137,000 of watches, rings and necklaces had not even been unwrapped.

Though De-Laurey has given back £1.1 million and accounted for another £2.25 million, police believe she could have a secret stash of about £870,000 hidden in overseas bank accounts, plus £100,000 of missing Cartier jewels.

De-Laurey had a quasi-religious conviction that there was nothing wrong with the poor stealing from the rich. Especially, if the rich did not notice.

One friend described her as "a modern-day Robin Hood", but while she enjoyed stealing from the rich she gave to the poor only if they were family or friends.

Even Mr Mead grudgingly admitted: "Mrs De-Laurey was the Picasso of conmen. She was brilliant."