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When the doorbell rang thirty minutes later, Andre's clothes were soaked with perspiration,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and the kitchen was like an oven. Gillian hurried to open the back door.
Two workmen in overalls stood in the doorway,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], carrying toolboxes. One of them was a tall black man. His companion was white, several inches shorter,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], with a sleepy, bored look on his face. In the rear driveway stood their service truck.
"Gotta problem with your air-conditioning?" the black man asked.
"Oui! Thank heaven you're here. You've just got to get it working right away. There'll be guests arriving soon."
The black man walked over to the oven, sniffed the baking torte,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and said,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Smells good."
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"This way."
Andre hurried them down a corridor to a utility room, where the air-conditioning unit stood.
"This is a good unit,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Ralph," the black man said to his companion.
"Yeah, Al. They don't make 'em like this anymore."
"Then for heaven's sake why isn't it working?" Gillian demanded.
They both turned to stare at him.
"We just got here," Ralph said reprovingly. He knelt down and opened a small door at the bottom of the unit,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], took out a flashlight,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], got down on his stomach,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and peered inside. After a moment, he rose to his feet. "The problem's not here."
"Where is it,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], then?" Andre asked.