Cat Burglary Tips From the Carlton in Cannes

Several years ago, before mobile phones were a thing, I was woken up at about five in the morning by a woman shouting my name. It was coming from outside the apartment I was staying in. I crossed to the window and peered down. It was Jennifer, my colleague. We were on a business trip and were sharing the apartment.

“I thought you had a flight to catch,” I called.

“I do.” She stood by a minicab. “But the cab driver couldn’t find the place, so I came out to flag him down, and now I’ve locked myself out and left my suitcase upstairs. Can you bring it down?”

“Sure. Just a sec.”

I found the suitcase propping open the door to the apartment. Not wanting to make the same mistake as Jen, I made sure to grab my own keys before bringing the suitcase down to the street. The door closed behind me, but I didn’t worry about it. I had my keys even if Jennifer didn’t.

I was wearing baby blue pyjamas. It was cold, especially the pavement on my bare feet. I shuffled from one foot to the other as the cab driver loaded the suitcase into the boot. I hugged Jen goodbye. She thanked him and the cab departed for the airport.

I unlocked the door to the building and walked up the stairs. But when I tried to unlock the door to the apartment, the lock wouldn’t accept my key. I fiddled with it for a while. It wouldn’t budge. I squatted and tried to look through the keyhole. It was dark. Something was blocking it. That’s when I realised where Jennifer’s keys were — in the lock on the other side of the door.

After a few minutes of jiggling the lock, I went down to the street and peered up at the window. Maybe I could climb up to it. I couldn’t see any way to get up to the window. The street was deserted. None of the lights were on in any of the neighbouring apartments.

The building was only a few blocks from the esplanade, which was dotted with expensive hotels and cafes. I figured I had a much better chance of finding help there. The first place I came to that showed any activity was a five-star hotel. The famous Carlton. The lobby, despite the early hour, was busy. Well-dressed people, mostly elderly, were coming and going. All wore shoes and most wore socks. I was the only one in pyjamas.

A woman with perfect, immovable silver hair walked up to the counter carrying a small dog and a bottle of champagne.

“Can you please give this to Henri?” she said to the clerk, handing over the bottle of champagne but not the dog.

“Certainement, Madam!”

She glanced at me, taking in my bare feet and pyjamas. She frowned and walked out of the hotel.

“Can I help you,” asked the clerk.

“I hope so. I’ve been locked out of my apartment. I’m visiting from England and I’m afraid I don’t know anyone here. Would you be able to call a locksmith for me?”

“I will try, Monsieur.” The clerk looked up a number and dialled. There was no answer. The clerk hung up. “It is, maybe, a little early. We could try again after nine?”

I squirmed a little. My feet were cold and the silver-haired lady with the dog wasn’t the only person to cast a disapproving look my way.

The clerk noticed my discomfort. He held up a blank key card. “You could try this?”

At first, I thought the clerk was offering me a room. “Thank you, but I’m not sure... How much does a room here cost?”

The smallest smile possible appeared briefly on the clerk’s lips. “Our rooms start at five hundred euros a night. But the key card is free. If it is a spring lock, you might be able to pop it open, comme ça.” He mimed sliding the keycard into a doorjamb.

I accepted the card. “Ah, thank you! Merci!”

I left the hotel with as much dignity as I could muster and walked back to my apartment. After about an hour of cursing and fiddling, I managed to spring the lock open.

Once I’d showered and put on more suitable attire (including shoes), I walked back to the hotel to thank the hotel clerk and return the now mangled key card to him. He accepted it graciously and dropped it in the bin.

And that, dear reader, is how I joined an exclusive club that includes Cary Grant, Grace Kelly, and the Pink Panther among its members — cat burglars of the Riviera.