St-Jean-de-luz in the south of France to this time had escaped the urbanisation suffered by other French port towns to the north. Situated on the beautiful Bay of Biscay Jodi Stanton had taken her young family from the roar of maddening London to virtual tranquillity in the old port town. Famous for its pirates and corsairs of the 16th to 18th century tourism had not taken commanding hold and one could sit back and think of the future.
Held up on an upper level villa overlooking the harbour Jodi had however noticed two neatly dressed men trailing her every move. Her long flowing hair became trapped beneath her behind when she sat down, her slim but curvaceous body she considered to have done her no good attracting the attention of every man's optic nerve that beheld her. Today was not a good day, her four children played below on the beach in sight all the time, she had just informed her employer in London a major newspaper owned by her father, she would not be returning to work. Hiding behind doors had finally got to her and she wanted a taste of freedom. She fought the vision of her husband that kept nagging at her mind, childhood sweethearts they had married at seventeen and she became Mrs Jodi Stanton. Intoxicated with her husbands love and endearing manner it took some years to find out exactly what his occupation was. Amid the first ever argument the pair experienced John Stanton told his wife of the blood dripping from his hands and the immense power and vigilance he possessed, she had no idea he was an MI6 operative. She questioned the computer information and reference material her husband studied in such early stages of development when at home and found identification documents under several names bearing his picture. Her husband spoke four languages fluently, she had no idea. She found a stash of weapons hidden in their home, this was the last straw. Whilst attempting to hack her husbands phone from the ivory tower that was her employer to find out more she was surprised to be confronted by her husband who knew exactly what she had been up to.
Once she was aware, paranoia gripped her life, she loved her husband dearly but became distant, she knew the hands that caressed her so delicately with endearing love were the hands of a murdering patriot sworn to protect the corridors of British democracy. She became confused, drained, she struggled to accept the status quo, and she began to despise the men in suits that followed her everywhere. Decisions did not come easy, they played on her mind.
She looked down into the street from her villa and there they were again, the men in suits, looking over her children like they were freaks. She became filled with rage and headed down the stairs gripping everything she touched with hands overflowing with fury, hidden stairways are sometimes the places you learn of the unknown.
She crossed the quiet street and confronted them standing no more than tow metres away. "You are you English."
A young fresh skinned man with dark hair and sunglasses remained calm. "Yes I am Mrs Stanton."
"So you are my husband's dogs."
"I am instructed to make sure no harm comes of you."
"Who's this other one, cat got his tongue."
"Je suis également ici pour Madame de votre sécurité"
"Don't you speak English."
"Yes madam."
"Well when you address me would you kindly use it?"
"As you wish madam."
She turned back to the Englishman. "I'm going to Australia if you didn't already know; it's a far as I can get away from this. Is my husband still alive?"
"Of course he is Mrs Stanton."
"Simpson, my name is Simpson."
"If you prefer to be addressed as Mrs Simpson fine."
"Tell my husband I love him and I never want to see him again."
The young man hesitated. "I think I'll let you tell him that Mrs Simpson, the bearer of such news would be in great danger if not directly involved."
"You are frightened of my husband so much you can't take a simple message to him."
"If I had just lost you and these children, I would surely be unstable and confrontational. Fear is not an emotion I posses but knowing my limitations is."
The Frenchman butted in looking Jodi up and down peering at her cleavage. "Vous êtes tendue Madame, vous avez besoin peut-être je peux aider." 'You are uptight madam, you have needs perhaps I can assist.'
Jodi looked daggers at the man. "You filthy pig."
The British operative pushed his hand into the Frenchman's chest pushing him back an arms length. "Are you mad, put your hands on her whilst in the line of duty and Stanton will hunt you down and kill you."
Jodi hesitated. "Perhaps my husband does have his uses." She called her children and led them back to the villa. She watched out the window, the two men argued and the Frenchman was seen to leave.
Followed by a never ending trail of strangers in suits wearing sunglasses Jodi payed them no mind, the offending Frenchman was gone but another took his place. She made her way to Paris four children in tow and boarded a plane to Australia, destination Sydney. She suffered no legal or moral attacks from her husband and upon putting her feet on Australian soil pondered what she had done; there was an enormous hole in her life. She immersed herself in work acquiring a position in the port town of Newcastle north of Sydney with the local newspaper as a political reporter and analyst.