Agnes couldn’t find a luggage trolley anywhere. ‘Oh dear!’ Now the handle on her suitcase broke.

‘Can I help?’ She turned to the friendly voice behind her. A plump man in his sixties smiled with concern.

Flustered and hot, Agnes said, ‘I’ve bought too many mementos, I’m afraid. It’s rather heavy.’

He nodded. ‘My late wife was the same.’ He glanced down at his own small suitcase with wheels, adding, ‘I travel light these days.’ Then he proffered a hand, fingernails well manicured. ‘John Gentle.’

Blushing, she shook that proffered hand. ‘Agnes Merryweather.’

‘Mrs. Merryweather,’ he said. ‘Could I offer you assistance.

‘It’s Miss,’ Agnes said. ‘If you could, I’d be very grateful.’

John Gentle took hold of her luggage by the one broken strap and together they entered departures at Malaga Airport. ‘Oh dear,’ Agnes uttered, looking about her. ‘It’s so busy.’

‘What flight are you on?’ John Gentle laid an assuring hand on her arm.

‘Cardiff. 10.00am.’ she replied.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Plenty of time to check in. There it is over there.’ He pointed over heads.

‘Oh dear.’ Agnes sighed. ‘Such a long queue.’ Now she wished she'd gone to the toilet before she’d left the hotel.

‘Once they open up, it’ll soon shift,’ John Gentle assured her.

‘Are you travelling with someone?’ Agnes asked, trying to take her mind off her growing dilemma.

‘My sister, Jane,’ he replied. ‘She’s sorting out payment for the car we hired.’

‘Where are you flying to?’ She asked.

‘Gatwick,’ he said. ‘Our flight’s not till lunch time but Jane watches those TV Airport programmes so insists we must be early in case there’s a problem.’

‘I can understand that Mr. Gentle.’ Agnes smiled.

‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I wait here with your luggage while you have a wander.’ From his smart beige linen jacket pocket, he took out a magazine on sailing.

Sensing her Samaritan had noticed her discomfort, Agnes accepted and hurried away in search of a toilet and, when she returned ten minutes later, she found Mr. Gentle looking somewhat anxious.

‘I’ve just spotted Jane heading over there.’ He pointed over heads once more. ‘I called out to her but she’s a bit deaf, so I’d better catch up with her.’ He held out his hand and Agnes shook it thanking him profusely for his assistance.

At twelve thirty, Agnes stepped down onto the tarmac of Cardiff Airport, glad to be home and looking forward to giving her neighbour and two nieces their presents and, of course, seeing her cat, Felix, once more.

‘Excuse me, madam.’ A man from customs stepped out as she went through Nothing To Declare. ‘May I ask you to step aside.’

A little irritated at the delay, Agnes did as she was asked and looked in horror at a brown parcel she’d not packed being taken out from under a china bull. ‘Will you come this way?’ The question was firm but polite. Agnes followed the official into an office. ‘Drugs,’ he said to another man. ‘Looks like heroin.’

‘I didn’t pack that!’ Agnes shook with fear.

‘You were seen at Malaga Airport with a drugs trafficker.’ The challenge sounded calm but had undercurrents of menace.

‘That was Mr. John Gentle,’ Agnes said. ‘He helped me with my luggage.’

The uniformed man leaned across his desk. ‘John Gentle. James Dunn. All aliases. Real name Eddie French.’

Many hours later, distraught, Agnes was released into a chilly, autumn night having missed her courtesy bus home.

Then a car drew up and the passenger window hummed down.'Can I help you?' a man's voice asked.