I took the keys back. It was not without incident.
I suppose I arrived at the restaurant at about 3 in the afternoon and the grill was open but the door was locked. The lights were on, a computer was turned on on a table, but there was nobody around.
I knocked. No answer.
Meanwhile a woman was hanging out of an upstairs window across the narrow street crying.
I phoned the restaurant and got the answering machine.
A man came round the corner and yelled instructions and insults to the woman. "Die, son of a prostitute," he cried.
She threw a glass down at him, which shattered and spread shards all over the street.
I sent a message to Jérôme via sms and Facebook.
"Phone the police!" yelled the woman. And say what, exactly, I though to myself.
The man periodically left and returned, repeating his instructions and insults to the woman.
He noticed me and decided I was calling the police and taking photos. I assured him that I was waiting for the restaurant, but then I decided that it wasn't absolutely necessary that I hand the keys over in person, posted them through the door, left a message saying the keys were there and left.
Jérôme later phoned me and we had a nice chat. He'd been in the kitchen preparing the New Year's Eve meal.