Lesley Lokko’s books are worth the weight

OUTSIDE her window is grey sky, falling rain and the monotonous drone of traffic as city life goes about its every day, fairly dreary business.

Snug inside, Lesley Lokko has allowed her mind to slowly drift. From her Edinburgh flat she races between exotic climes and sun-kissed beaches, conjuring up a strong, handsome man whose gentle touch over a silken sheath of fabric sends chills. In her mind she hears his lover’s throaty sighs, the thrill of romance, the tension, the passion . . .

Of course, she now confesses with a gutsy laugh, this was never a real romance. No silver sandy beaches or gently lapping turquoise waters. No real life love god with bulging wallet or demure, slightly scheming heroine.

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As for the sensual, steamy scenes that flow through her series of beachcomber “bonkbuster” style novels – clever stories featuring characters with fabulous names like Anneliese Zander de St Phalle and Laure St Lazare, and men who ooze wealth and power – well, it transpires they could not have less exotic roots.