Anne Perry and the Murder of the Century

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Anne Perry and the Murder of the Century Page 12

by Peter Graham


  The same cannot be said about one of the boarders in theRieper establishment. John Nicholas Bolton was a law student from Invercargill. “A pasty-faced fellow with long lank hair who always turned up late for lectures” was how one of his contemporaries would remember him. On Sunday, July 12, Pauline slipped into his bed, where she remained until three next morning. Despite their energetic efforts, Nicholas did not succeed in penetrating her. They had another try, again without success, the following Tuesday night, this time in her bed. In the early hours of July 15 they were caught by Bert Rieper and the young man was summarily expelled from 31 Gloucester Street.

  Pauline wrote in her diary: “A terrible tragedy has occurred … I lay there mesmerised. It was just too frightful to believe … When I got up I found Father had told Mother. I had a nasty foreboding feeling at first. But now I realise my crime was too frightful for an ordinary lecture … I am terribly cut up. I miss Nicholas terribly.”

  Nicholas had been “quite consoling” about the trouble in which she found herself. “Mother thinks I will have nothing more to do with him … Little she knows…”

  The return of Henry and Hilda Hulme to New Zealand on August 30 was a welcome distraction. Pauline was overjoyed to receive several gifts from Mrs Hulme, who also gave Nora a powder compact in gratitude for her kindness to Juliet. Nine days later Juliet, improved but not fully recovered, was released from Cashmere Sanatorium into the care of her parents. The medical staff were all too aware of the unhappy time she had been having with her mother and father overseas. Spring was in the air. Dr and Mrs Hulme could presumably be counted on to take good care of their daughter. Fresh air, bed rest and not too much excitement were prescribed.

  Pauline accompanied the Hulmes when they went to collect her. “It was wonderful returning with Juliet,” she wrote. “It was as if she had never been away. … I believe I could fall in love with Juliet.” What in heaven’s name did she mean? To most people’s way of thinking she already loved Juliet as much as any friend could.

  Things were not easy in the Hulme household. Juliet punished her parents for their neglect with tantrums, cold hostility and calculated insults. She was unrelenting in comparing the love and loyalty shown her by Pauline—even by Mrs Rieper—with their own dereliction. She pushed her parents further and further away and drew Pauline closer.

  Pauline, however, had plans of her own that did not include Juliet. She continued to see Nicholas, visiting him late at night at the house where he now boarded. “I long for Nicholas very much,” she wrote. But surrendering her virginity was proving difficult. In time medical experts would be asked why this was so. As far as Dr Reginald Medlicott was concerned she was “never erotically involved” with Nicholas, just “seeking experience”. The episode was, he thought, “an attempt at heterosexual functioning”.

  Whether this was true or there was a physiological problem, Pauline’s persistence was undeniable. When she visited Nicholas on September 14 she found him “very ardent”. She wrote in her diary that she loved him. A week later she visited him at two in the morning. On September 29 there was another attempt at intercourse, but it was very painful. Three days later the same thing happened.

  Then, on Sunday, October 4, “Nicholas was very pleased that I was so early. We sat around and talked for an hour and then went to bed. I declined the invitation at first but he became very masterful and I had no option. I discovered that I had not lost my virginity on Thursday night. However, there is no doubt whatsoever that I have now.”

  Four days later she and Nicholas had a tiff. This, she thought, was a good thing: she and Juliet could now continue their friendship “unmolested, with no outside interests”. The two girls sat around thinking of all the people they would like to wipe out. On October 28, Juliet’s fifteenth birthday, Pauline told Nicholas she was “no longer very much in love with him” and “it was better if they discontinued seeing one another”. It was as if she felt her affair with Nicholas had been an act of disloyalty, to be put right on Juliet’s birthday.

  A month later Juliet decided she no longer wished to be called Juliet. Henceforth she would be Antoinette, after Antoinette de Mauban, mistress of the wicked Duke of Streslau in The Prisoner of Zenda. A little later, probably inspired by Deborah Kerr, who had played Princess Flavia in The Prisoner of Zenda, she changed her name again, this time to Deborah, pronounced De-bor-ah. This was also the name she had given the mistress of Charles II of Borovnia, mother of Diello. Pauline became Gina. Most likely this was in honour of the buxom Italian film star Gina Lollobrigida, whose first American film, John Huston’s Beat the Devil, had appeared that year.

  Still convalescing, Juliet did not return to Girls’ High in 1953, nor the following year, nor ever. For Miss Stewart, the girl’s illness had solved the tricky problem of her overripe friendship with Pauline Rieper. Juliet, for her part, now had unlimited time to indulge her imagina­tion. She had little need to engage at all with the mundane world.

  By the end of November, with her fourth form year at an end, Pauline was busy assisting Juliet with her plans for an important event in Borovnia. Charles II, usurper of the throne, had at the age of thirty-five decided to relinquish the purple in favour of his bastard son Diello. The coronation, to be acted out as a pageant, would be held on Friday, December 10. Once enthroned, the youthful new emperor Diello would embark on a reign of terror that would not have disgraced Caligula.

  Two days later, the coronation over, Pauline stole out of bed just after midnight and presented herself to Nicholas. Next day she was taken by her mother to visit Dr Francis Bennett at his rooms in Armagh Street, just off Cranmer Square. Since Hilda Hulme had returned from her travels, she had changed her mind about the relationship between her daughter and Pauline Rieper. Although the girls had seen each other only three times during Juliet’s three-month stay in the sanatorium, Hilda was convinced the friendship had developed while they had been away. “It became apparent to my husband and myself that her real affection lay with Pauline. … I had noticed Mrs Parker was concerned about that friendship—I knew her daughter had lost weight during my absence. … She looked quite ill. She sought medical advice largely at my suggestion and my husband’s.”

  Bert Rieper would later explain it was Dr Hulme’s idea that Pauline see Dr Bennett; he had hinted Pauline might be lesbian. For their part, the Riepers were more concerned about their daughter’s precocious sexual interest in boys and her weight loss. Around the time she lost her virginity to Nicholas Bolton, Pauline developed what would today be recognised as an eating disorder. It was almost certainly bulimia nervosa, a condition that involves binge-eating and self-induced vomiting. From her diary it seems Pauline did not have a period for six months from October 21. This kind of interruption of menstruation was a common side effect.

  Nora was understandably worried. She threatened her daughter that if her health did not improve she would never see Juliet again. “The thought is too dreadful,” Pauline wrote. “Life would be unbear­able without Deborah. I rang Deborah and told her of the threat. I wish I could die. That is not an idle or temporary impulse. I have decided over the last two or three weeks that it would be the best thing that could happen altogether, and the thought of death is not fearsome.” It did not come to that, but Pauline’s weight loss remained a matter of concern in the Rieper family in the months to come.

  Dr Bennett’s recollection of events was that he was consulted by

  Dr Hulme on December 9; the appointment with Pauline was then arranged by Dr Hulme and Mrs Rieper. Although Hulme “was worried over what he regarded as an unhealthy association, and wanted me to see Pauline from a psychiatric point of view”, Pauline’s mother was “worried over her loss of weight and vomiting”. He assured Nora there was no physical illness to account for Pauline’s weight loss.

  Bennett’s psychiatric evaluation of Pauline at the request of Dr Hulme, a third party, was unorthodox to say the least. In the event, it was also unsatisfactory. Pauline refused to coo
perate and mostly answered questions with only a simple yes or no. She did say she was unhappy and that her mother nagged her. She also told him her only friend was Juliet and she didn’t in general like girls—she thought girls were silly. Bennett suggested she should enlarge her circle of friends but could see he was getting nowhere. Pauline Rieper was “strange”, he wrote in his case notes.

  The inadequacy of the interview did not deter Bennett from informing Mrs Rieper there was a homosexual attachment between her daughter and Juliet Hulme. He may well have been assisted in

  this diagnosis by a prior briefing from Hilda, his colleague on the Marriage Guidance Council. Under the circumstances, he told Nora, not much could be done about it. He thought the whole thing would eventually fizzle out. Pauline was unimpressed: “Mother carted me off to see a doctor after work, which was a half-witted imbecile thing to do, especially as I feel perfectly well. The doctor was a bloody fool…”

  Afterwards, Nora mollified Pauline by taking her to see Pandora and the Flying Dutchman. In this peculiar fable, a man has to live forever unless he can persuade a woman to fall in love with him so the two can die together. The film starred James Mason and Ava Gardner. Pauline, who had been aflame with anticipation all day, was enraptured. “It is the most perfect story I have ever known, the best picture (easily) that I have ever seen. Pandora is the most beautiful female imaginable and Him is far too wonderful to attempt to describe. I feel depressed and will probably cry tonight.” The two girls had recently decided to refer to James Mason as “Him”; this would evolve into a bizarre system of encryption only they could unravel.

  The Hulmes now disappeared to Port Levy for Christmas and the long summer holidays without inviting Pauline, whose influence on Juliet, they had decided, was a matter of real concern. On Christmas Eve, Pauline noted that she did not feel very Christmassy. It was nothing like as exciting as the night before Diello’s coronation.

  CHAPTER 14

  Angelic Behaviour

  In 1954, “Rock Around the Clock”—the first worldwide rock ’n’ roll hit—was recorded by Bill Halley and his Comets. Elvis Presley recorded his first songs “That’s All Right, Mama” and “Blue Moon over Kentucky” for Sun records. It would be another year, though, before this new music gained popularity. Meanwhile, sentimental ballads, lugubrious harmonies, and Italian-flavoured novelty songs, from “Secret Love” by Doris Day to “Three Coins in the Fountain” by The Four Acres and “Papa Loves Mambo” by Perry Como, held sway.

  Juliet Hulme preferred the soaring arias of Puccini, Mascagni, Verdi, Donizetti and Bellini, and Pauline soon joined her. The girls spent hours listening to the Hulmes’ collection of the great artists—Jussi Björling, Tito Schipa, Benjamino Gigli, Maria Callas, Nellie Melba, and especially Enrico Caruso—and Pauline trawled second-hand shops to buy records of her own. She and Juliet became infatuated with Mario Lanza, the American-born tenor who had played Caruso with extraordinary success in the 1951 film The Great Caruso.

  Now, however, with Juliet away at Port Levy, life for Pauline was dreary as a month of Sundays. In her new Whitcombe’s Handy Diary, inscribed “To Yvonne, Love from Daddy”, she wrote an unsettling New Year’s Resolution: “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you may be dead.” An attempt was made to patch together a truce withher sister Wendy, who delighted her by reporting that Mr Tredrea, a family friend, had said Pauline was the finest-looking girl he had ever set eyes on. Wendy also offered to lend her money any time she needed it.

  On January 3 Pauline attended church, played with her sister Rosemary, who was home for Christmas, and did some baking. In the evening she wrote to Nicholas and “Deborah, or rather Diello”. She wrote to Nicholas again on January 7, feeling well disposed towards him but unable to think of anything to say. She was under close watch by her parents and no longer free to slip in and out of the house in the early hours of the morning.

  A few days later, with her mother in an unexpectedly good mood, she broached the subject of being allowed to see Nicholas. “I think there is hope but I shall not expect it as I don’t want to be disap­pointed,” she wrote in her diary. Evenings were spent working on Plasticine models of wild horses. She wanted “to get into Mother’s good books”. For a brief moment Juliet raised her hopes that she would be invited to stay at Port Levy—“Joy of Joys!”—but nothing came of it.

  A day or so later Pauline again raised the topic of Nicholas. Nora was unhappy about his “bohemian ways”; she would have to consult Pauline’s father. That was not hopeful, Pauline thought. Her father

  was maddeningly cautious in such matters. “I was rather annoyed by Mother’s attitude as I have been positively angelic for over a week, which is incredibly hard and she ought to show her appreciation more.”

  Her spirits rose after a family picnic at Coe’s Ford on the Selwyn River. “It started to rain a little and we piled into the car and started off. I had the car window open and a warm breeze blew which was heavenly. I felt more light-hearted and glad than I have for months. I made wonderful plans for the future. When we arrived home (6.30) I had a bath and came straight to bed feeling clean, sweet and happy.”

  The angelic phase did not stop her making a surreptitious purchase. She had been having riding lessons for years with a Miss Rich in Hackthorne Road and was keen to have a horse of her own. Using money saved from a holiday job and payments from her mother for helping with the boarders, she secretly bought a gelding, whom she named Omar Khayyám, and arranged grazing with a Mr and Mrs Purvis two miles out of town. “I was very frank, and all that I did not tell them was that my parents knew nothing of my horse. All they asked for was 5/- weekly so I was very relieved and everything was settled.”

  On January 16, a Saturday, she recruited Nicholas to help catch Omar Khayyám and take him to his new paddock. They were unsuc­cessful, but Nicholas took the chance to tell her he loved her and to report that her mother had phoned and said he was not to see her. Pauline was furious. She had been led to believe that if she continued to be good she could see Nicholas again; she had been “perfect for a fortnight” and “amazingly good”. Her mother was “dreadfully mean”; she felt “very much double-crossed”. Seeing the biblical epic The Robe at the Savoy that night put her in a better frame of mind. “Caligula was exactly like the Devil,” she noted, referring to the evilly smirking Roman emperor played by Jay Robinson.

  In the next few weeks Pauline talked to Juliet on the telephone almost daily and the two exchanged numerous letters. Nicholas, though, was continually out when she rang. When she finally reached him, he revealed that her mother had now written to him. “Apparently my angelic behaviour during his absence has convinced her he is a bad influence on me.” The thought that her mother had let her down—even betrayed her— weighed heavily on her mind. She would never forgive her.

  From January 18 to 22, 1954, Christchurch was in a ferment of excitement over the visit of the newly crowned Elizabeth II—Queen of Britain, New Zealand and numerous other countries of the old Empire—and her handsome consort the Duke of Edinburgh. Buildings were painted, bunting was hung, flags fluttered, and flowers, the gaudier the better, were everywhere in profusion. At night, Cathedral Square and the river banks were lit up. After the young couple arrived by train from Greymouth, crowds massed in Oxford Terrace outside the Clarendon Hotel, where the royal party was staying. The Royal Christchurch Musical Society, women in long white ball dresses and men in dinner jackets, launched into a medley of songs it was hoped might please the royal ears. After wave after wave of deafening cheering, their highnesses appeared on the balcony to shouts of “Long live the Queen!”

  Next day the royal couple was driven eight miles through the city, cheered en route by 150,000 well-wishers. The elaborately planned route took them along Ilam Road to the new site of Canterbury University College. Henry and Hilda Hulme had invited a few people to watch the procession from the lawn of their house. Among them was a retired surgeon and former member of parliament Sir Hugh Acla
nd and his wife. As the queen passed, Lady Acland caught sight of Juliet out of the corner of her eye. She was writing furiously in a notebook, ostentatiously ignoring the proceedings. She was, Lady Acland thought, a very peculiar girl.

  That evening there was a ball at the Christchurch Club, which Henry and Hilda Hulme would certainly have attended. “Magnificent jewels and gowns were on display,” The Press reported next day. “Many of the older women guests wore handsome tiaras.” A marquee draped with vines, grapes and ivy boasted a special dance floor. Roses, frozen in large blocks of ice, were placed in alcoves, “electric fans throwing the cool air from the ice into the ballroom”. The guests were disappointed when the queen sent a message saying she was too tired to attend: the presence of the prime minister, Sidney Holland, and his wife was small consolation.

  Like Juliet, Pauline was treating the royal visit as beneath her notice. If in the recesses of your mind you are Emperor of Borovnia or Empress of Volumnia, people line the streets cheering you. The night after the ball she happily watched James Mason in Secret Mission but the main thing on her mind was what to do about Omar Khayyám. At breakfast next day her mother dropped a bombshell: Mrs Purvis had phoned—something about the grazing—and so her mother now knew all about the horse. Pauline, she said, should tell her father, confess all, as if of her own accord. Initially his reaction was “mediocre” but that evening she talked it over with both parents, who were “really jolly decent”. Bert and Nora had decided the horse was to be encouraged: it might take their daughter’s mind off Juliet Hulme.

  It was a vain hope. For the first time since her visit to Dr Bennett in December, Pauline biked off to Ilam. It was now January 23. Hilda may have had a change of heart, or perhaps just agreed to the visit to gain respite from Juliet’s incessant pestering. In any case, something else was occupying her mind by then.

 

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