Money doesn't talk, it shouts. But real money whispers. "Tea for two please," sighs J P McManus into the phone.

The renowned businessman, legendary gambler and mysterious benefactor settles once again into his seat.

We're on a sixth floor suite in the Berkeley Court Hotel. McManus is on a flying visit to Dublin. Later in the day he is flying to his native Limerick.

He's a fast mover is JP but not half as fast as the Berkeley Court's room service. No sooner has McManus' backside touched his seat than room service is knocking on the door.

"Tea for two sir," says the waiter, sprinting into the room expectantly. He's not disappointed. "There you go," smiles JP, his hand cupping the note. "Thank you sir!"

An everyday scene, particularly for a man whose wealth has been speculated to be as high as £400 million. And done with all the flamboyance of a wet Sunday in Dollymount.

That's the first thing everybody tells you about McManus. He is so normal. He looks, acts and sounds ordinary. Wealth doesn't automatically mean boorish arrogance but McManus has the care worn air of a steady if unremarkable school teacher.

Hardly a man who now lives in Geneva, jets his own way around the world and possesses a string of racehorses that includes what many believe is the finest hurdler we've seen in many years, Istabraq.

"When I go out on a Saturday night, it's with the same people I went out with over 20 years ago," he says; and you believe him. And you also believe the stories of his legendary calculation.

Off the record, McManus is naturally friendly and chatty. He has a way of apparently confiding in such a way that there is a gratifying sense of briefly being on the inside. Of being in the know. Hogwash of course but there is no doubt he is good company.

However, once the tape recorder appears on the table, a net that McEnroe couldn't serve over gets in the way. For the next 90 minutes, McManus keeps glancing at the recorder like a sheepdog overseeing a particularly ornery flock. Turn it off and he is back to his old self. Turn it on and each comment is pared and polished umpteen times in his mind before being uttered to his satisfaction.

Remembering his very early days as a gambler in the late `60's, and a government increase in betting tax, he says: "I decided overnight this was not for me. I said I'm buggered if I'm going to pay that." Then he pulls up short. "I'm not sure buggered is a great word to use there." A man very conscious of how he is perceived.

He understands how there may be a public fascination in him but doesn't entirely trust how the media cater for that fascination. The recent reported offer of £50 million towards a national sports stadium reinforced his view. He maintains a "no comment" stance on that believing comment will only add fuel to an already gratefully burning media fire.

SO what would be a tactful question to a man not overburdened with love and trust for hacks. Oh well, here goes. A quote from a previous profile of him: "Irish people generally reserve a mix of awe and admiration for JP McManus, but others believe he and his high-flying friends are part of a new generation who think they can buy their way into anything." What did you make of that JP?

"I wouldn't say it cheered me up when I read it. The comment was not warranted," he brakes, before slipping smoothly into neutral. "I've no control over that. People have to judge for themselves whether it's apt."

McManus claims he is the worst judge of people's perceptions of him and no doubt wishes there were no perceptions at all. He is essentially a private family man. His lifestyle may be different to the ordinary private family man but that is just circumstance.

Currently those circumstances centre on Geneva where McManus operates as a currency dealer. He is allowed 280 days over a two-year period, with not more than 180 in any one year, in Ireland. Typically he doesn't rail against the restrictions.

"Well, it's no hardship! The days are really more than I need but it's good to have them in the event of an emergency. It's a different culture but Geneva is a good city from Monday to Friday - it's maybe not a great weekend city though," he says.

Talk of the good life and fascination with the benefits of his success such as his private jet - "it's just a way of travelling" - bores him. Instead he concentrates on the more mundane. "I'm always in touch with what is going on at home. Out there I find myself listening to RTE radio, something I never do much here. I watch tapes of the Sunday Game and with Irish racing on the SIS now, I can watch those videos in the evening. Whether it's Clonmel today or somewhere else tomorrow, there's a good chance I'll have seen it."

Racing. McManus always returns to it. Understandably so. It's his huge interest, his hobby and the medium through which he first excelled. The stories of his early gambling are legendary. Stories of satchels of cash being lost on the latest sure thing and sums of up to £100,000 being bet at Cheltenham. Stories about being labelled the "Sundance Kid." Stories he is not really interested in now.

"A lot of it was nonsense and picked up its own steam. I've said this before but the best strokes have never been told because they might have to be used again," he says before explaining what for him was the learning process and the reality.

AS a young bookmaker he went broke more than once. "I was laying more than I could afford. It got to the stage where I was working for a few months just to get some money together to give it another whack. I was driving earthmovers and bulldozers . . . a couple of months working for a county council gives you plenty of time to think. It was a good education," he remembers.

Recognising the margins often favoured the gambler and that a gambler doesn't have to bet each race, he changed sides and so the legend began. "You learn more about a person when they are gambling than in any other part of their life. You can really see their character. In my years, the most honourable people I've ever met have been on the racecourse. If they weren't you'd have to go around with a lawyer over your shoulder all the time. When a deal is done, it's done," he declares.

McManus maintains that gambling is now a side-show to him but adds: "I suppose I didn't get the buzz of winning unless I've experienced some pain in losing but nowadays I just bet to add a little excitement. I can very easily take it or leave it. For a few years after I left Ireland I had no bet here. I never programme a horse now with a view to a gamble. Betting is not high on my priorities. Now I'm just interested in good horses winning the big events."

It's a different view to the one he had when he started. Horses were then more a betting medium than a living, breathing creature in a stable. He remembers: "I used to go to Edward O'Grady's to ride out planning to pull off some sort of coup. But it got to the stage where I was pleased the riding out was over. I think I lost my nerve. I was dreading a fall and I hate say it I gave up - admitted defeat!"

That's something he has not admitted much since, although one challenge he will not take on is a job in Irish racing's administration.

"Definitely not. I couldn't give the job the time and it wouldn't be my best suit anyway. If you take up any administrative job you leave yourself open to criticism and anyway I'm afraid I might sulk if not given my way! At the moment I think we are getting there and if somebody can tell me how the IHA can do a better job I'd like to hear it," he says.

One man who McManus feels would be hard pushed to do a better job is Istabraq's trainer Aidan O'Brien. McManus is an owner who does much of his horses programming himself, working his backwards from a target, usually Cheltenham, but his admiration for O'Brien and the Champion Hurdler is immense.

"I tend to get edgy now when Istabraq runs. It's taken for granted that he will do well but to do the right thing by a horse all the time is not easy. I can't stress enough the job Aidan has done with him. I have never been disappointed in the horse in terms of condition or coat.

"I'm just so fortunate to have this horse and I almost feel now that he is not mine anymore. I just manage him for the public. I'm really serious about that. I'm delighted that the public have taken to him and the pleasure now is in going the right things with him," he says.

Normally such democratic statements from the hugely wealthy tend to sound awkward but McManus pulls it off. It must be that overwhelming sense of normality that he exudes but it's easy to see him taking immense pride in people admiring his great horse.

Maybe it's because he once was on the outside looking in like the rest of us. The inside may be racier, more exciting and have quicker room service but it's hard to imagine JP McManus forgetting that tea after all is just tea. A great horse though, that's a different matter.