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When the doorbell rang thirty minutes later, Andre's clothes were soaked with perspiration, 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,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]! 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,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], sniffed the baking torte, and said,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Smells good."
"Please!" Gillian urged. "Do something!"
"Let's take a look in the furnace room," the short man said. "Where is it?"
"This way."
Andre hurried them down a corridor to a utility room, where the air-conditioning unit stood.
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