同心難改英文原著小說

1、<p>　　I Can’t Think Straight</p><p>　　SHAMIM SARIF</p><p>　　For Hanan, the love of my life, who taught me that truth could be stranger than fiction, and much more beautiful.</p><

2、p>　　And for Ethan and Luca, my loves, my life.</p><p>　　Chapter 01</p><p>　　Amman, Jordan </p><p>　　AND THEN THERE was the question of getting dressed, and time was running dange

3、rously short. Reema could hardly spend this last hour before her daughter’s engagement party arguing with Halawani about the cake. It was evident from the bulging smear of gold icing that was still slipping down the fabr

4、ic-draped wall of the vast entrance courtyard that it was her own idiotic staff who had damaged it, probably Rani, wanting to be in charge of the fragile tower of soft sponge and peaked icing, and inste</p><p&

5、gt;　　With only the slightest flinch, Tala had watched her engagement cake crash into the wall. She stood on the landing above, leaning silently over the banister rail, stil and unnoticed, watching the flurry of movement

6、in the hallway below. In the midst of the preparations, her mother and the baker were arguing over the smashed cake. She watched them both, body movements and gestures set against each other, heard their rising voices, i

7、rritated, pleading. Quickly, Tala turned and went back into her o</p><p>　　“We could just elope, you know.”</p><p>　　She smiled at Hani’s voice. </p><p>　　“But then you wouldn’t get

8、 to see me dressed like a Bond girl,” she replied dryly. He laughed. </p><p>　　“Must be insanity over there. With the preparations and everything?”</p><p>　　Tala had just found three errors in o

9、ne clause and neglected to answer quickly enough. </p><p>　　“Tala? You’re working aren’t you? Half an hour before our engagement party starts!”</p><p>　　Tala laid the proofs on the desk and lean

10、ed forward in her chair. “It’s my first order, Hani. I have to make it work. My father’s already pressing me to come back to the family business.”</p><p>　　“You will make it work,” he replied, his voice seri

11、ous, kind. “You will. I love you, Tala.”</p><p>　　Tala smiled at the phone. “Me too, Hani. Me too.”</p><p>　　When he rung off, she did not pick up her work again, but sat still for a moment, the

12、 kind of pause she rarely allowed to punctuate her days. There was music outside floating up to her from the garden – the band was testing microphones and speakers. Closing her eyes, she frowned, straining to hear the so

13、ng that was being sung. Heartbreak and sorrow seemed enveloped in the soft liquidity of a female voice, which had an underlying richness that poured along the registers of notes like warm syrup. </p><p>　　Re

14、ema glanced at the kitchen clock. For fifteen minutes now, she had been trying to get Halawani to take back the cake and repair it, which he steadfastly refused to do lest she interpret it as an admission of guilt on his

15、 part (which of course, she would have). Turning on her velvet- slippered heel, she left the competing protestations of the staff and the baker, not to mention the grating screech of the microphones that were being teste

16、d outside, and the irritating itch of her husband’s nervou</p><p>　　Her Indian housekeeper, Rani, was standing in the middle of the room, holding two glittering evening gowns, each arm stretched high above h

17、er head in an effort to prevent the hems from touching the carpet. She was only barely successful in her endeavor, since she was a good eight inches shorter than Reema and her dresses. </p><p>　　Reema paused

18、 and her eyes flickered intently over each gown. She pointed. “That one.”</p><p>　　“Yes, Madam”.</p><p>　　With relief, Rani laid down the gowns. The tops of her arms ached. </p><p>

19、　　“Where’s my coffee?”</p><p>　　“Coming, Madam.”</p><p>　　Reema sat upon the plush, velvet chair before the towering three-panelled mirror, attached a slim black holder to the end of the cigaret

20、te, applied the flame of an alabaster lighter to the other end, and sat back. Her face was not bad, she considered. Not for a fifty-four year old mother of three. She sighed out a cloud of cigarette smoke. She was aware

21、that the continuous dragging on cigarettes had deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth, but they were not as bad as those of the other wome</p><p>　　Rani re-appeared carrying a pot of Arabic coffee and

22、a small silver cup. She placed these on the table behind Reema, poured out a cupful of the steaming dark liquid and, with a sidelong glance at Reema’s unsuspecting back, silently spat into it. </p><p>　　“You

23、r coffee, madam.” Rani crossed the room and politely offered the cup to Reema. She watched eagerly as Reema lifted the coffee to her lips, but only to blow a cooling breath onto it. </p><p>　　“Where’s my hus

24、band?”</p><p>　　“In the garden, madam.”</p><p>　　“Did the dress fit Tala?” Reema asked. “She didn’t stop eating at lunch.”</p><p>　　“Like a glove, madam.” Rani watched the coffee cu

25、p’s movement up and down, the gentle cooling of the liquid. Let her drink it, she prayed. Let her drink it. </p><p>　　“Lamia – did you take in her clothes?”</p><p>　　Rani nodded. “By two centime

26、ters, madam.”</p><p>　　Satisfied, Reema lifted the coffee to drink but then remembered her youngest child. Rani shifted a little. </p><p>　　“Did Zina like the gold dress I chose for her?” The cu

27、p touched Reema’s lips, was tipped up ready for the first sip. </p><p>　　“She loved it, Madam.” Rani’s careful tone was designed to smooth over the sarcasm of the reply, but only caused Reema to lower the co

28、ffee cup and throw her housekeeping an evaluating stare. Rani smiled brightly, encouragingly, but it was too late. Reema placed the untouched coffee back into her hands and began to apply her make up. </p><p&g

29、t;　　The moment that Zina had seen her sister’s engagement cake, she had felt blindly impelled to get out of Jordan and back to New York. The teasing restlessness of her limbs, the impulsive desire to turn and walk calmly

30、, coolly through the quiet house and out of the immense double front doors, was almost overwhelming. She pictured herself out there, outside, walking, walking on, picking up the rhythm of her stride as she made her way a

31、long the winding private road that led down their own private hi</p><p>　　Zina sat up on her bed, disappointed – with herself, for wanting to escape Tala’s party – but mainly with the cake. Until she had par

32、ted her curtains and watched the garish bulk of that cake being brought into the garden, she had been successfully convincing herself that she was glad to be home. Most of her apparent contentment had been achieved at he

33、r own expense, through basic psychological trickery. She knew she was adept at evoking a romantic nostalgia for things like the jasmine trees, the </p><p>　　And then there was the dress. Draped across the fo

34、ot of the bed was an offensively gold concoction. Pinned to the shoulder of the dress was one of her mother’s stiff, gilt-edged note cards. In Reema’s florid hand were written the words:” No black. It’s an engagement par

35、ty, not a funeral. Mama.” She could imagine her mother had congratulated herself for an hour after thinking up that hilarious line. Carelessly, Zina pulled the note off and tossed it into the bin. As she regarded the dre

36、ss mournfu</p><p>　　Drawing in a long breath, she tried to dispel the vague nausea that suddenly touched her, and made a conscious effort not to recall the other cakes, the other parties, the broken engageme

37、nts, the desperate fiancés the feuding families. In one short week she would be back at university in New York, and would have a month to recover from this trip before returning for the wedding. In the meantime, she

38、 began to list in her mind the things that would help her to get through the evening without resor</p><p>　　“Is this seven millimeters?”</p><p>　　Lamia, waiting for mirror space behind the broad

39、 shoulders of her husband, stepped forward and peered at the ruler that her used to measure how much of his handkerchief peeked from his tuxedo pocket. She nodded, and Kareem lowered the ruler and turned away, satisfied.

40、 </p><p>　　“I just hope this is the last engagement party your father has to throw for your sister.”</p><p>　　Lamia tried very hard to concentrate only on her own reflection in the polished glas

41、s. She adjusted her necklace, pleased with the way it set off the elegant sapphire-blue of her evening dress. But Kareem was fidgeting at his immaculately ordered closets, checking that the edges of his ties were aligned

42、, needling the perfect rows of socks, needling her. </p><p>　　“Poor man,” he said, clicking his tongue. </p><p>　　“He doesn’t mind,” Lamia offered. </p><p>　　“Of course he minds. He

43、’s kind enough not to show it. But for a man of his standing to endure the shame…”</p><p>　　Lamia closed her eyes just long enough to block out the sound of her husband’s voice. She opened her eyes, and cast

44、 a half-smile at her own reflection before turning to him. </p><p>　　“How do I look?” she asked. </p><p>　　Kareem’s long-lashed brown eyes passed over her figure and for a brief, pleasurable mom

45、ent, Lamia felt conscious of her own beauty. </p><p>　　“You could cover your shoulders a little more.”</p><p>　　She looked down. “It’s not cold.”</p><p>　　He plucked a shawl from th

46、e closet and strode across the room, holding it out to her. </p><p>　　“It’s not proper.”</p><p>　　The music, over which the first guests were chatting, still haunted Tala as she descended into t

47、he garden which was transformed for this night with hundreds of lamps and glowing lanterns that created an expansive circle of light around the crisply dressed tables and the open sided marquees. Beyond the lights were s

48、wathes of lush lawn (Reema had insisted on installing an impractical and hideously expensive state-of-the-art irrigation system to crush once and for all the relentlessly encroaching d</p><p>　　Uncle Ramzi s

49、potted Tala first, pulling his niece into a small circle of people. The women kissed her, commenting on the simple, clean lines of her dress in an effusive way that made her understand that they disliked it. The men grin

50、ned their congratulations. The young ones had carefully slicked hair and, like their fathers, held glassed of whiskey. Her uncle was already smoking a Montecristo cigar shaped like a small torpedo. Tala hugged him. </

51、p><p>　　“Ammo Ramzi! You managed to get on a plane!”</p><p>　　Ramzi pulled back in dismay. “Plane? You know I’ll never get on a plane. Not after that dream I had.” Hs large hand mimed the sudden cr

52、ash of an aircraft. He shook his head sorrowfully. “The crash! The devastation!”</p><p>　　“Ammo, the dream was in 1967.”</p><p>　　“Right after the Six Day War,” agreed Ramzi. “Israel has a lot t

53、o answer for.” This drew sympathetic murmurs from the people around them even as Ramzi assured her that he would not have missed her party for anything.</p><p>　　“I wanted to meet the man who made it this fa

54、r – again.’</p><p>　　There was a flutter of laughter and Tala glanced up at the circle and caught the nervous expectation in the fading sounds they made. The last time she had broken an engagement, she had d

55、one so at the party itself, irritated beyond control by the insulting, chauvinistic bravado her fiancé had adopted in front of his family and friends. Despite her instinct to brush off their clinging curiosity with

56、a joke, Tala felt lost suddenly. She looked to her father, instinctively, for some quiet support bu</p><p>　　“I love him, Ammo.”</p><p>　　“Of course you love him. He’s Christian and he’s rich.”&

57、lt;/p><p>　　“He’s kind and honest and forward-thinking. And handsome,” she added, to soften the insolence that they would have perceived in her tone. Her uncle smiled, but leaned in to her as he accepted a glas

58、s of champagne from a waiter. Tala noticed Ramzi’s eyes lingered appreciatively on the young man’s form as he took the glass from him. </p><p>　　“Handsome is good, my dear. But ask your aunty why she married

59、 me. Looks and character come and go. Only large sums of money last forever.”</p><p>　　He was rewarded with guffaws from the men, and faux-disapproval from the women, most of whom, Tala noted, had married fo

60、r money rather than love. </p><p>　　“Apparently so,” she replied, and they were uncertain of the meaning of this reply, and because they were uncertain they read it, correctly, as an insult, though none of t

61、he showed it. They only laughed outwardly and congratulated themselves inwardly that their own children were not as over-educated and smart-assed as Reema and Omar’s. </p><p>　　Her duty done with her uncle,

62、Tala extricated herself and found Zina. </p><p>　　“You look amazing, habibti,” her youngest sister told her. </p><p>　　“Thanks. I wish I could say the same,” Tala replied, taking in her sister’s

63、 gold dress. Ruefully, Zina glanced down at herself. </p><p>　　“You know, I think I found those weapons of mass destruction the Americans were looking for. How clever to disguise them as Mama and Lamia. I wi

64、sh you’d come from London earlier,” Zina added. “Who shows up the night before their engagement?”</p><p>　　“I was working, Zina.” Tala’s tone held the air of a confession. Zina squeezed her hand, a touch of

65、encouragement and understanding. She felt better, calmer, reassured by the familiar exchanges with Tala. There were times when Zina regretted that for the past fifteen years she and Tala had lived in different countries.

66、 While Tala had finished boarding school in Switzerland, Zina had remained at home in Amman with her parents. By the time she followed Tala and Lamia to school, the two older girls</p><p>　　“Are you excited

67、about the wedding?” Zina asked. Tala shot her a sarcastic look. </p><p>　　“Flower arrangements, menus and napkin rings? I can’t wait.”</p><p>　　Zian smiled. “Then why are you getting married?” T

68、here was only a small hint of amusement in her eyes and in the tone of her question. </p><p>　　“What should Hani and I do?” Tala asked. “Live together?”</p><p>　　“It’s modern times.”</p>

69、<p>　　“Not in Amman. You’ve been in the States too long. These six months dating Hani are the longest I’ve gotten away with, without a ring.”</p><p>　　Zina considered. “I think you should blaze a trail.

70、”</p><p>　　“So it’s easier for you and Lamia?” Tala laughed. </p><p>　　“Lamia?” Zina snorted. “She’s set us all back by a century.”</p><p>　　Instinctively, they both looked over at

71、their sister, who caught their eyes upon her and made her way to them. She looked at Tala. “Mama says you should be entertaining your guests.”</p><p>　　Zina laughed. “Yeah, Tala, you really should be familia

72、r with engagement party etiquette by now.”</p><p>　　“That’s not funny,” Lamia noted. </p><p>　　Zina regarded Lamia with all the irritation that had built up since she had coerced her into puttin

73、g on the heinous dress. “It is if you possess a sense of humour.”</p><p>　　Tala sighed. Before them, the swimming pool glowed with submerged lighting and the interior walls displayed a delicate, intricate mo

74、saic. The white-clothed tables radiated out from the pool over the lawns, while beyond, the wild profusion of jasmine trees and flowers stood sentinel, scenting the air with their perfume. </p><p>　　“Hani’s

75、here!” Lamia exclaimed. </p><p>　　They followed Lamia’s gaze. At this distance, Hani was hard to pick out amongst the group of relatives who accompanied him, for he wore a similar tuxedo and hairstyle, and h

76、e seemed very much as ease amongst the back-slapping, shoulder-squeezing, loud congratulations that the men conferred on him as he arrived. But Tala noticed that he glanced up at every opportunity and she knew that he wa

77、s looking for her; and when his eyes did find her own, their calm, even gaze reassured her. </p><p>　　“God, you’re lucky, Tala,” Zina said. </p><p><b>　　“I know.”</b></p><

78、p>　　She went forward to meet him, exulting in the family smell of his skin and clothes, clinging to him for a long hug. Only the smattering of applause from guests watching them brought her back to herself, to self-co

79、nsciousness. </p><p>　　“Have you had a drink?” Hani asked her, holding her hand. Tala shook her head and he picked up tow glassed from a passing tray. </p><p>　　“Here,” he said, smiling. “To you

80、 and me. To us, Tala.”</p><p>　　She touched his glass with her own “To us, Hani.” Tala grasped his hand and turned to listen to the girl who was singing. She was raised high on a special dais on the other si

81、de of the pool, far enough removed from the partygoers to appear like a lone angel spreading her message in vain. Tala listened, aware of only the music and the throb of her own rushing pulse in her ears, from a heart th

82、at she felt now as a physical presence in her chest, swelled with emotion; a spilling of feeling that she</p><p>　　Chapter 02</p><p><b>　　London </b></p><p>　　IT WAS HAL

83、F-PAST FOUR on a Friday afternoon – those revered and sacred minutes in a quiet, British suburban office, when the weekend had finally crept so close that the anticipation of it was pleasurable rather than agonizing. Ley

84、la looked forward to these two days hungrily, more excited by the prospect of release from her office, with its rain-flecked window and the grim brightness of its three fluorescent tubes, than by any particular plans. Th

85、e low pall of the Surrey sky matched the relentles</p><p>　　During the last six months, she had almost completed a first novel, and she was surprised to find herself pleased with what she had produced. She h

86、ad been daunted, at the start, by the sheer hubris of daring to put down on paper the sudden clusters of words that peppered her thoughts, and certainly she would not allow her mind the pleasure of imagining these snatch

87、ed hours of writing, these short patches of consciousness detached from the regular, even shapes of the world about her, as a way of </p><p>　　“Leaving early?” her father asked her with a gin. It was over an

88、 hour later, and he had caught sight of her trying to pass noiselessly through the open car park that his office overlooked. He did not care that his daily view consisted of two Mercedes, a Volvo, a Toyota and two Ford F

89、iestas; he liked to notice the flow of bodies in and out of the office. For Leyla, it seemed particularly harsh that, so close to Friday evening freedom, she should have heard the unmistakable, familiar tap on the wi<

90、/p><p>　　“Hardly early,” she said, with a quick smile. “It’s six. In fact you owe me an hour’s overtime.”</p><p>　　Sam laughed. His office was large, with an impressive boardroom table that remaine

91、d completely unused, for there was no board to report to, and a stained mahogany desk broad enough to complement his tall, solid frame. He sat back in his wide leather chair, laced his hands behind his head, and said, wi

92、th calculated casualness:</p><p>　　“This is all going to belong to you and Yasmin one day, you know.”</p><p>　　It was a familiar lead-in, and she smiled even as she felt a misgiving hit he in th

93、e stomach. </p><p>　　“But it won’t keep going without sales,” he continued. </p><p>　　“You know I’m no good at selling, Dad,” she began, but her manner was too hesitant, her pitch too half-heart

94、ed. She hated to say things that disappointed him and, as a result, she realized that she couldn’t even see him the idea that she was not a salesperson. </p><p>　　“You don’t sell life insurance,” her father

95、assured her. </p><p>　　“I know, I know,” she replied. “It sells itself.”</p><p>　　“Exactly,” he smiled, pointing a finger at her. He was charming, she had to admit that. </p><p>　　“

96、Life insurance,” he continued, “is a sure bet. We all know we’re going to die.”</p><p>　　She placed her notepad, briefcase and coat down in a heap on the floor. She had been clutching them against her as a k

97、ind of talisman, in the hope that he would be psychologically fooled into thinking that she was in a hurry to get home. But now there was no denying the truth – a full day pinned behind his desk, dealing with the paperwo

98、rk he so disliked had left him thirsty for human contact, hungry for an audience. With relief, she remembered that she had an unbeatable way out, but he was so ha</p><p>　　“You think I like selling? I’ve got

99、 news for you – I don’t.”</p><p>　　That was a blatant lie if ever she’d heard one. He loved selling. He lived and died for it; and he did it superbly. He sold things all the time, even at home. He would deli

100、ght in asking if she and her sister wanted their chicken curry with chapattis or rice – thereby ensuring that they accepted the curry itself without argument. It was the law of limited choices, he would explain. Never as