Celebrity Bride (25 page)

'Thanks Bob. Yes, you join us live at Richmond police station where we have just heard from the team investigating the death of Elody Elloissie that they now believe she committed suicide. That's right; despite conducting a massive murder investigation, arresting one of Elody's closest friends – Kelly Monsoon – and interrogating another – Isabella Bronks-Harrison – they now think the stylist took her own life. I'm joined by Katie Joseph, the senior showbiz editor of the
Daily Post
newspaper.

'Katie, you revealed last week that Elody died on the anniversary of her former lover's death. Do you think that's why she committed suicide?'

'Yes, I think that's probably why. She was very cut up when he died. I don't think she ever properly got over it.'

'Thanks, Katie. For more of our exclusive interview with Katie Joseph, see www.sky.com. Now over to Brett for the weather.'

THE MYSTERY OF ELODY'S SUICIDE BID
EXCLUSIVE

By Katie Joseph
Daily Post
Showbiz Editor

Our woman in the know gives you the full behind-the-scenes story on what happened at the heart of the police operation to convince them that Elody Elloissie had committed suicide. EXCLUSIVELY in the
Daily Post
, your top newspaper for showbiz news.

It was Michael James, a pathologist working with Scotland Yard's murder squad, who found the crucial mark that would convince police detectives that Elody Elloissie had committed suicide. A 'hilt' wound found between her thumb and index finger confirmed to them after a two and a half week operation to find a murderer, that she had taken her own life.

They investigated the shape, depth and direction of the mark, and became clear in their minds that this was not a murder after all, but the actions of a woman feeling so miserable that she wished to take her own life.

But what continued to baffle police was why there was no suicide note left. Was this a spur of the moment decision? Then, yesterday morning, while searching through files on her computer, they found a video message explaining that she planned to take her own life on the anniversary of the death of her great love, the fashion designer Jon Boycott.
Daily Post
believes that the video reveals that Elloissie felt she was personally responsible for the death of her boyfriend because when she found her boyfriend's body – half-dead after a night of drug-taking – she fled the flat in panic, rather than calling an ambulance. Even though she returned to the flat and rang for help, over an hour had passed – a period of time in which critical care could have been given to her boyfriend.

'I killed him as surely as if I'd plunged a knife into him myself, and that's what I plan to do today, to myself, to say sorry for what I did to Jon, and to be with him once more.'

Elloissie goes on to explain that the reason she didn't call for assistance straight away was because she worried about what the revelation might do to Jon's career. 'As soon as I calmed down, I rushed back and called an ambulance, but it was too late. I killed him.'

Police will outline their discoveries at the inquest, which is scheduled for the end of next week. It marks a tragic end to the story that has captivated millions in this lead up to Christmas. It is believed that Hollywood producers have been in discussions about making a movie about the doomed affair, which led to the death of Elloissie who was, at one time, the world's most influential stylist.

'I can't hear it,' says Mandy, walking round the flat and straining so much she looks as if she's about to go to the toilet. Her eyes are all screwed up and she has an intense concentration about her. 'Oh no, hang on. I can hear something. What's that? Yes, stop. I can hear it now. Nope. It's gone. You need to ring the phone again.'

'This is bloody insane,' says Sophie dialling my mobile from her phone. We all fall silent, listening for the sound of ringing.

'Yes,' they both say, leaning over slightly with their heads tilted. We all wander through the flat in this bizarre, hunched over, straining with concentration manner, listening intently in the hope of hearing it ring.

'I can definitely hear something,' I say, hoping that we'll find my bloody phone after a morning of searching for it. I know I had it last night because we had a little impromptu pre-Christmas Eve drinks party, and Mum called to check I was OK. But what did I do with it then? No one knows.

The phone goes to answerphone so I hang up. 'We're never going to find this thing are we?' I say, as the two girls peer at me through eyes that are still suffering the after-effects of last night's alcohol. 'Come on, let's have a cup of tea.'

I head in the direction of the kettle while Mandy swings open the fridge door to pull out the milk. 'Aha!!' she cries making the two of us jump into the air. 'Guess what's in the fridge?'

'Oh God. If it was once living, please just throw it away and don't tell us about it,' I plead, fearing that she's found a dead mouse or toad or bat or something stuck in the ice at the back where we really should have defrosted.

'Nope. Nothing terrible . . . Da . . . da . . . da . . .' She holds out my phone, freezing cold, but all intact. 'Happy Christmas Eve,' she says.

'What the hell was it doing in the fridge?' I ask. She shrugs, Sophie shrugs and we all burst out laughing. 'I think that must be the end to the perfect party,' I say, because we did have a load of fun last night.

It's been over two weeks now since I left Richmond and, though not a day goes by when I don't feel my insides turning themselves inside out with the pain of not being able to see Rufus, I know I've done the right thing. I know he needs to be free to find someone who's like him and can live in that odd world of his.

Mandy and Sophie have been brilliant. We've had so many nights lying on the sofa chatting over huge pizzas (I've got money now so we have one each and we eat them with Châteauneuf-du-Pape as I explain how I developed my newfound love for wine after our wine-tasting night). I also tell them about Rufus and what it was like living with a screen god.

'The paparazzi surrounded the house, constantly,' I say. 'It was awful.'

'They surround the flat too,' counters Sophie. 'They're outside 24/7 now, afraid to leave the place unmanned since you upped and escaped at 4 am last time they took a coffee break.

Last night at the drinks get-together, we invited Katy and
Jenny who I used to work with because the girls were desperate for me to put
them straight on the situation with me being given my own office. Once I ran
through it all from my point of view, they got it completely. We even had
a game of Malteser-throwing to celebrate the fact that everything was great
with us now, but it turned out I'd lost the knack a little and hurled the
Maltesers with such force and with no regard at all for direction that it's
taken me half the morning to clear the chocolate-shaped dabs off the wall.

'Good fun last night, wasn't it?' asks Mandy, tipping boiling water into the mugs and watching me as I cradle my freezing cold phone.

'Yes,' I say.

'Messages from Rufus?' she asks.

'Forty-three,' I reply.

The two girls look from one to the other.

'You should talk to him you know,' says Sophie. 'You've spent eighteen days ignoring his calls, not accepting the flowers, refusing to allow him to come into the flat and not reading his letters.'

'No, I read the letters,' I tell them.

Not only do I read them, but I memorise them. Every word, every pause, every comma on the page. They are handwritten, which I love more than anything because I know he never handwrites anything. I'm still praying that's because he wants to make them as personal as possible and that's why he puts pen to paper. Half of me wonders though whether he has to handwrite them because the police haven't returned his computer yet. Let's hope not . . . first option is so much more romantic.

I tell the girls that I'm over him and have moved on, but the truth is that there's not a second in the day when I don't yearn to be with him. Every night I lie there thinking of him; I go to sleep crying and I wake up crying, then I wipe my eyes and pretend everything's OK.

'Why don't you see him?' asks Mandy. 'Just go and meet him somewhere and talk to him. Do it today . . . on Christmas Eve. Go on . . . it has a nice romantic ring to it.'

'No I can't,' I say, looking down at my hands and fiddling with my fingers and trying desperately not to cry. I feel like a part of me was lost when I walked away from that house. I watched a programme about a cow being separated from her newborn calf and the cry she gave made me want to weep because that's what I want to do. I feel like lying down in the street and howling like a wild animal whose newborn's just been torn away. I think of Elody sometimes and I feel so jealous that she doesn't have to live with this pain I feel every minute of every day.

'I don't know why you can't see him,' Sophie says and Mandy nods in agreement. 'Look at you; you're a wreck. You're not eating, you can't think straight. You need to talk to him.'

'If I see him, it'll kill me.'

Rufus has been calling at the flat almost hourly, shouting up to my bedroom at the back from the alleyway off the street. I know the bouncers from Jimmy's help him through and make sure no one sees him but they won't let him get too close. They know the rules; I watch them sometimes through a crack in my bedroom curtains. They see him coming and smuggle him through so he can call up to me, telling me how much he loves and adores me, and saying how sorry he is that he didn't support me.

'I didn't know what to do, Kelly. This was as new to me as it was to you. I was terrified. Absolutely terrified. Please talk to me.'

Then I see Jimmy appear, pat him on the back, and lead him away.

I wander out of the kitchen and into the bedroom to get dressed.

'Where are you going?' asks Sophie, coming and sitting on the bed while I slip on a big woolly jumper and brush my hair. I stick on a hat and my big coat and some sunglasses and tell her I'll be back later. She knows where I go every day. Lawrence was at our little party last night and he, Mandy and Sophie were tucked away in a huddle for most of it, looking over to me occasionally as I stood with Katy and Jenny explaining how difficult it was at work after I'd moved in with Rufus, and telling them about the coat incident which had upset me so much. I'm sure that in the little Lawrence huddle there was talk about me sitting with Frank in the gardens every day.

'I'm off,' I say.

'One second,' says Sophie, taking my hand in hers, and preparing to give me yet another of her talks. She's become quite the old romantic since she started seeing Detective Barnes. She denies it, of course, but I know she's been sneaking out when I've been lying in my bed. I've heard the giggles as she and Mandy get ready to go on their respective dates, and I've seen the happiness in their eyes. I'm pleased for them both, honestly I am. They deserve to be happy. I just hope she never crosses that Barnes guy because he's a bloody nightmare when you're on the wrong side of him.

'Most people spend a lifetime looking for what you've found in Rufus,' says Sophie. 'I never thought I'd say this, Kells, but you and Rufus . . . well, it works. It does. You need each other. I can't bear to see his gaunt and pale face again, begging me to let him in just so he can see you. I can't bear to see you, getting thinner and thinner and teetering on the edge of illness constantly. And what for? No one's asking you to go back there or start the relationship again. Just talk to him, Kell. You have to.'

I smile and hug her but I know I can't do that. Every time I see a picture of him I want to howl and scream, every time I glimpse his name or a reference to a film he once starred in, I feel this wave of unbelievable sickness rush through me. I feel light-headed and ill just being alive. I can't see him in the flesh. There's no way. I can't see him. It'll kill me.

The Rose Garden's pretty this time of year. Odd, because there are no flowers around, of course, just the bare thorny sticks sitting all frost-covered and jagged in the hard ground, but it's still gorgeous. There's something lovely about being in a garden all year round, seeing it change through the seasons. I'm finding myself loving every aspect of this place: not just the blooms themselves, but the whole thing about nature – working its way through its natural cycle, year after year. I love the way the hedges sit around the outside, as if placing a protective arm around the garden, and I like the way the benches lounge around the edge as if having their own imaginary conversation with one another. This place has got a life of its own; that's why I like it – because it's vibrant and real and alive.

The other great thing about this place in winter, obviously, is that hardly anyone comes here. I mean that. Most times there's me and Frank, who seems to do little more than wander around smiling at people. I guess that's quite enough of a job, really. It would be nice if more people were employed in such a capacity. Lawrence pops over when I'm here now, which is lovely. He was shy at first, but since he's met Mandy and knows a little more about me, he's relaxed in my company. I guess that now he realises I'm not a raving loony who's about to attack everyone and murder them, he feels he can breathe more easily. He tells me all about the area of the grounds that is his responsibility. He took me over there once. It's magnificent with great sprawling lawns running down to the river, beautiful statues and plants. But it's not like my Rose Garden. This place is still my favourite.

My phone rings in my pocket; I should say 'vibrates' in my pocket. I switch the ring off when I'm here; it seems disrespectful to have it tinkling away when there might be people around desperately searching for a slice of solitude; time for silence to wash over them . . . time to think.

I know who it will be on the phone, of course. It will be the man I'm helplessly and hopelessly in love with . . . a man I'm desperate to talk to, but am terrified of coming into contact with because I know that seeing him will make me feel worse than I do now and, when that happens, I honestly don't think I'll be able to go on. I just need to forget him. I know I can do that, but I also know that it'll take time.

'OK, love?' It's Frank, dispensing his greetings and brightening up the place. 'How are you doing there, beautiful?'

'I'm fine, Frank, how are you?'

'All the better for seeing you, my dear. Mind if I join you?'

'Of course not. I even have biscuits!'

It's become quite a habit, this. He has his flask of sweet tea and I bring biscuits and we sit on the little bench with no dedication and chat about nothing in particular.

'How was the party last night?' he asks. 'Lawrence had a great time.'

'It was fun,' I say, unconvincingly.

'Sounds like you had a wild time. Lawrence says you were in bed by nine.'

'I was tired.'

Frank knows all about what's happened to me, of course. He knows about Rufus and me because it was through Rufus that I met him. I sometimes wonder whether he still sees Rufus. I doubt it. Rufus is busy. The idea of him coming down to the Rose Garden to drink heavily over-sugared tea with an octogenarian is slightly unlikely to say the least.

Frank's craggy features have settled into a smile. 'What a pickle you're in,' he says eventually. 'More tea?'

'I'm not in a pickle,' I say, thinking that 'pickle' is about as wrong a word as you could summon to describe the hash I've made of things.

'You are,' he says. 'You're madly in love with a man who's madly in love with you but you're too proud to do anything about it.'

'That's not true!' I say. 'I'm not in love with anyone.'

'OK. Fine. We'll change the subject. What are you doing for Christmas?'

'I'm going back to my parents' place in Hastings. I get the train this evening.'

'That'll be nice. Do you get on well with your parents?'

'Yeah. They're pretty cool. You'd love my dad – he's mad about gardening.'

'How about your mum?'

'She spends most of her time looking after my mad relatives.'

'She sounds kind.'

'Yeah. She is.'

'Like you.'

'Yeah . . . hardly! I don't look after anyone.'

'You looked after Elody pretty well. I'd say that you made a very sad, lonely and complicated girl very happy during her last weeks. You should be proud of yourself.'

'I have to say Frank that pride is not something I feel when I think of Elody. I was arrested for her murder, you know. I wrecked everything. I don't feel proud.'

'What if I said to you that you haven't wrecked anything? What if I say to you that the video the police found on her computer was recorded before she even met you? You're not responsible, Kelly. You never were. You messed up enough for the police to suspect you but that's all – it's over now. Tea?'

'Er . . . yes please. Do you not think I'm completely useless for getting myself into that mess?'

'When you get to my age, dear, nothing really surprises you or horrifies you. I lost two close friends in the war – I saw them die and couldn't do anything about it. Most of my relations are dead. My wife died two years ago and my son and daughter-in-law five years before that in a horrific accident. Lawrence was thrown from the wreckage. He was in intensive care for ten months. You soon realise that the only point in life is people. Without them there is no life. If you find a special person who matters – don't let them go.'

The tears are rolling down my face as Frank talks but, to his credit, he pretends he hasn't noticed. We both look out across the thorns and branches.

'Why didn't Rufus come to the drinks party last night?' he asks suddenly.

'I didn't want him to.'

'Why not?'

I just shrug, because if I talk any more on the subject of Rufus with this kindly old man in this beautiful garden, I know I'll just drown in tears.

'Gosh you're a lady of few words this morning, aren't you?'

'I find it hard,' I say, choking on tears. 'This is a difficult day . . . Christmas Eve. This is a day I always thought we'd spend together. This is a difficult place in which to sit and talk about him.'

'It seems to me that every day's a difficult day when two people are hopelessly in love but don't see one another. Even the staff at his house miss you,' he says.

'Do they?'

'Yep.'

'How on earth do you know?'

'Henry comes down here quite a lot. He's a keen gardener you know. He wanted to say "hello" because you'd mentioned me to him. He also wanted to know whether I'd seen you, and to find out whether you were OK.'

'Tell him I am.'

'You want me to lie to him?' says Frank. 'I could do that. Or I could tell him the truth – which is that you're fading away before me because you miss Rufus so much.'

'I'm not.'

'You are, sweetheart. Did it never occur to you that you might have thrown the baby out with the bathwater?'

'What does that mean? People are always using that phrase but I don't have a baby and I take showers rather than baths. What on earth does it mean?'

'What it means is that you met someone you love dearly and have thrown him away with the lifestyle and his ridiculous friends because you didn't like the nonsense that surrounded going out with someone famous. Couldn't you just have said, "I can't live with all this nonsense"?'

'He wouldn't have listened.'

'Bet he would.'

'You don't know him.'

'I don't know him well, but he listens to me when I talk.'

'He what?'

'He listens.'

'When?'

'He comes most days.'

'What do you mean "he comes most days"?'

'He comes in the afternoons. Always asks whether you've been here and I always say no because that's what you want me to say. He knows I'm lying though. Yesterday he actually said as much to me.'

'You never told me he came.'

'He told me not to tell you.'

'Why are you telling me now then?'

'Because I'm sick of all of this. I'm eighty years old. I know how short life is, and I know how precious life is. The two of you need to sort this out and get back together or it'll be the biggest mistake since Hitler invaded Poland, and we don't want that, do we?'

'No,' I say.

'So you won't mind too much if I tell you that he's here then?'

'Here?'

'Yes, he's here; I told him to wait by the maze until I'd spoken to you. Don't let an old man down, Kelly. Tell me you'll go and talk to him. It's Christmas for goodness sake.'

Fuck. I don't want to let an old man down any more than anyone else wants to let an old man down, but Jeez, I don't want to see Rufus. Really, I don't want to see him so much that the thought of doing so makes me want to weep.

'Come with me.'

'No,' I say, remaining in my seat on the bench. 'You can't do this, Frank. I don't want to see him.'

'See him. Just see him. Not date him, marry him or live with him for the rest of time. See him. Let him talk to you. If you don't, you're not being fair. I'm serious, Kelly. This is silly. There are two people whose lives are being ruined by this. It's not just about you – it's about him too. Imagine how he felt when he woke up to find you'd disappeared and wouldn't talk to him?'

My legs are like jelly when I stand up and follow the old man through the gardens and out towards the maze.

'Hello, Malcolm.'

'Morning, Ethel.'

'Hello there, Deirdre; how did Howard's operation go? Everything all right, was it?'

He seems to know everyone here.

'None of us will be here for ever,' he says, turning to me. 'You either take the chances while they're there or regret not taking them once the opportunity has passed; that's the only real choice any of us has. Don't think you're being big or clever by turning down a chance of happiness, Kelly, you're not. I watched my family almost wiped out in a car crash; I watched my wife die of cancer. If I had my time again, I'd take every opportunity in the world to be with the person I loved. If you won't listen to anyone else – listen to me, Kelly. I mean it. Here we are – he's in the maze.'

At the entrance to the maze stand Morgan, Mather and Prentice. They've been joined by Lawrence, and by his side is Mandy, looking all sweet and lovely in a big duffle coat and those enormous cream mittens of hers. She taps my shoulder affectionately as I pass her. I can't believe this. The whole clan are involved. This must be what they were planning last night. The entrance to the maze is in front of me but suddenly I'm hit by a colossal fear.

'I can't go into the maze,' I say to Mandy, turning round to face her, and seeing the smile slide off her face. 'I can't see him.'

'Oh, you can,' she says, with uncharacteristic firmness. 'Do you know how much bloody trouble we went to to set this up? Get your skinny arse in there now.'

'OK.'

Left with no choice, I walk in and turn left, immediately seeing a choice of pathways to take. How is this ever going to work? I'll never find the man.

'Rufus, where are you?' I'm trembling as I speak. I can't bear this.

There's no sound. Christ, if he's expecting me to find my way into the middle he's in for a shock. I have the sense of direction of a leafy green vegetable. It's sometimes a struggle for me to find the kitchen in the mornings.

'Rufus, please. I'll never be able to find you.'

I continue walking round, praying this isn't some terrible practical joke by the girls. Hoping Rufus will be there when I find my way into the middle. 'Ruf . . . are you there?'

'I'm here. Is that you? Kelly, is that you?'

'Yes, but where are you?'

'They told me to come and wait in the maze for you. Perhaps we should both head for the middle, and meet there.'

'I guess so,' I say, unconvinced of my ability to find the middle of the maze.

Suddenly the pressure of seeing him has been lifted by the silliness of us both being in a maze, trying to find one another. Finding my way to the middle has become a bigger challenge than the fear of coming face to face with Rufus.

'You could stand still,' he suggests. 'I'll come and find you. You'll have to keep talking though, so I can follow your voice.'

'OK,' I say, then I can't think what to say.

'Talk,' he insists. 'I can't work out where on earth you are if you don't talk.'

'Well, I'm here. Near the bushes, in the maze.'

'Yeah, thanks for that,' he says, and I can hear in his voice that he's smiling as he speaks. 'Near the bushes, huh? Well that's really helpful.'

'Your voice sounds like it's getting closer,' I say, and I'm suddenly filled with an overwhelming urge to see him. Where did this come from? I've spent weeks avoiding him and now I've heard his voice and can sense his presence, I'm just desperate to see him.

'Say something,' he says. 'It's impossible to know where you are if you don't say something.'

'I love you,' I say.

'Say it again.'

'I love you, Rufus. I miss you. Where are you? Come and find me, please.'

There's an almighty rustling of the bushes and clambering, pushing and a considerable amount of swearing before Rufus appears through the hedge, covered in twigs, with a small rip in his jacket and a streak of blood across his face.

'I came as quickly as I could,' he says, grabbing me and lifting me up into his arms. 'I love you, Kelly. I want to marry you. Please say you'll marry me.'

And then I don't know what happens. I don't know whether it's because it's Christmas, because I've hardly eaten for nearly three weeks and am feeling very vulnerable, or because all my best friends in the world have arranged this in order to make me happy again but I say, 'Yes.'

'I'm sorry?' he says.

'YES!' I shout back feeling weak with pleasure. 'Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.'

All that remains now is for us to find our way out of this damn thing. We can hear the voices outside, but it's so incredibly difficult to work out how on earth to get to them. Then, a sighting through the twigs. Thank God it's winter so you can see a little through the branches. Not like the summer when the densely leaved trees would have trapped us for hours. We step through the gap and suddenly we're surrounded by people – all of them cheering and clapping, as they form a tunnel for us to pass through.