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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,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], 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, sniffed the baking torte,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and said, "Smells good."
"Please!" Gillian urged. "Do something!"
"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,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], where the air-conditioning unit stood.
"This is a good unit, Ralph," the black man said to his companion.
"Yeah,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Al. They don't make 'em like this anymore."
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They both turned to stare at him.
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"Where is it,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], then?" Andre asked.

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