ABSTRACT
The more Joaquin talked, the angrier—and more worried—Catalina became. She had rushed back to Havana on Friday, the day before, only to learn that there would be no French delegation for her to escort on Sunday. Her recall had been ordered, her supervisor at the Foreign Ministry had coldly informed her, by MININT Captain Joaquin Acosta, and she couldn't—or wouldn't—tell her anything more. Catalina had then tried to reach Joaquin at his office, and again at his home Friday night and all day Saturday, but to no avail. Now, here he was at her apartment a few minutes before ten on Saturday night, uninvited, seated calmly on her living-room sofa, insisting that what he had done was for her own good.
