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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,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], several inches shorter, with a sleepy,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], 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, sniffed the baking torte,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and said,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Smells good."
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"Let's take a look in the furnace room,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]," 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.
"This is a good unit, Ralph,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]," 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.
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"Where is it, then?" Andre asked.