The Harpsichord man.

By Carl Delprat

The Harpsichord man starts in a Newcastle suburb in the 1950's. Young Warren Bridges discovers a neighbour builds harpsichords. This is not your average resident, Jean-Paul Raymond was once a decorated Legionnaire.
They form a friendship which in time progresses into a life of crime.
Warren pays the price and ends up in Maitland Jail, a notorious prison for hardened criminals.
Follow Warren through his misguided adventures.
Experience his highs and lows.
This story never stops.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carl Delprat
• Release date: Oct 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311438218

Carl Delprat

Carl Delprat is a prolific storyteller. His home is the Australian coastal city of Newcastle, New South Wales.

Book preview

The Harpsichord Man.

A crime/fiction novel written by

Carl Delprat.

Copyright 2015 Carl Delprat

10 -11- 2015 (First Edition.)

Cover painted in acrylic by Carl Delprat. (16/09/15).

Yes you can judge a book by its cover.

ISBN: 9781311438218.

For the old times and all the trials that occurred along the long hard road leading to this story.

And as always, a special thanks to Carmel and Herb for all their help.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Other excellent stories by Carl Delprat are ~

31 LAMAN STREET. Is where an evil ghost wreaks havoc amongst the locals.

THE THREE TREES. An international serial murder mystery set in the 1950’s.

GIRL SOLDIERS. A futuristic global adventure where the girls have taken over.

ALL STRINGS ATTACHED. Find out what happens after a mysterious glowing object is discovered in a coal seam. Based on Steven Hawkins ‘string-theory.’

DREAMMAN. Is where a young man uses his dreams to fight for good over evil.

THE STORY OF ANNIE. The long life of a MG-TC roadster.

THE TWO BROTHERS. A crime and passion novel with a serial killer on the loose.

A FEED OF FISH WITH FREDDY. A chocolate box selection of short stories.

WHAT ABOUT MADELYN? A political cat fight between two rivals.

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Contents

About Carl Delprat, Storymaker

Other titles by Carl Delprat

A word from the author

Part One.

Chapter 1: Warren’s second best mate

Chapter 2: Growing up is hard to do.

Chapter 3: Troubled times.

Chapter 4: The strings come next.

Chapter 5: Interrupted business.

Chapter 6: Don’t trust anyone.

Chapter 7: Different pastures.

Chapter 8: Business as usual.

Part Two.

Chapter 9: Maitland Gaol.

Chapter 10: Lucky days once again.

Chapter 11: Back in the business.

Chapter 12: Time for a holiday.

Chapter 13: A new abode.

Chapter 14: Working for the man.

Part Three.

Chapter 15: Different pastures.

Chapter 16: Finally a chance to work.

Chapter 17: Keeping busy, but not for long.

Chapter 18: Free air again.

Chapter 19: The hand of fate.

Chapter 20: The Untouchable.

Please note: As with all my stories, … indicates talking and ‘…’ signifies thinking.

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A word from the author ~

Well, I suppose it’s time to write a story with harpsichords in it.

My harpsichord was made back in 1972, for the plan, I scaled up a minute illustration of an Italian harpsichord from 100 mm to 1955 mm full size.

My workshop was an enclosed veranda and I made everything. Jacks, jack rails, keyboard, soundboards yes and what a battle it was back then to get wire for the strings.

So, what started me? A chapter in a Woodworker Annual was all about building an English Spinet, and a workmate told me … You’re never going to build one of those … no chance!.

Since then 9 have been built, some were duds and the last one utilized a lot of carbon fibre.

But enough of that dribble … now back to this story about a harpsichord builder.

So what on earth will it be about? I do try to make every novel different, and it’s hard to keep the police out of it.

Perhaps this time it will have Maitland Jail in it, yes I paid a visit to that historical prison and it’s still hanging around waiting to be written about.

Well, it’s going to be interesting and there will be lots of characters as always.

Right at this moment I have no idea what will happen so … prepare yourself for something amazing…and off we go again.

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Part One.

Chapter (1). Warren’s second best mate.

This story starts off in the Newcastle suburb of Mayfield, the date is 1956 and the Christmas school holidays are almost over.

**********(1)**********

Warren Bridges was the only bloke who had actually talked to him, yes he actually talked to that ‘Frenchman,’ well apart from the milkman, the postmen and practically anyone he chose.

The rest of the nearby neighbours certainly kept their distance.

Let me tell you, this foreigner wasn’t your average sort of bloke? Just one glance told you that well enough.

Everyone who knew Warren could tell you nothing ever stopped him … so what would you expect?

He was always keen to do something different . . . have a go and stick his neck out.

Yes Warren Bridges was the cuckoo-in-the-nest.

Nothing like his older brother Trevor, and there was that rumour about an American soldier . . .

Anyway that strange French bloke lived somewhere behind The ‘Bridges’ house in Barton Street and when not working at Ryland’s Wire Rope Works, he was reported to make this strange stuff out of wood in his shed.

Besides, being a ‘foreigner,’ well … why would you want to talk to him anyway?

For a February day it was rather pleasant, not like that scorcher of a month January turned out to be. Warren Bridges decided the Jeffery Davies would be his second best mate today so he started rattling a stick along the Davies’s paling fence. It always worked, drove the Davies’s dog mad, Mrs Davies likewise — and within a minute — Jeffery was out and about.

Where to today Warren, and why aren’t you with Sammy Carmichael?

Stuff that Carmichael … I’d a fight with him yesterday and ... I expect he still has the shits with me.

What over? asked Jeffery.

His smashing sister, what else? replied Warren. "And that Janice Carmichael will have fights fought over her for a long time ahead … well that is until she gets as fat as her monstrous mother.

So what’s on today Warren, like what’s supposed to be happening?

You and me are going to look about for cigarette packets, so if we head down towards the BHP Steelworks there’s sure to be some fresh ones in the gutters. It could rain tomorrow and then they’d be worthless . . . got any better ideas? And what did you do to your knee Jeff?

Fell off my cousin’s bike, and forget the BHP ‘cause Simmo and Timmy did it over Friday afternoon, what’s say we try outside the Mayfield Hotels, we might find some empty cordial bottles?

The shopping at Mayfield had peaked, it was 10:00 am and the footpaths were full.

Miss Giulietta Berni waited with her mother inside the delicatessen, service was slow today and the shop was packed. To make matters worse … Mrs Cicero was standing far too close and Giulietta’s mother ever so hated that woman. Hated her and hated her Fascist husband … yes she'd hated them all the way to Australia, … and then hated them every day at the refugee camp … and every Sunday at Saint Columbus church during Mass.

"Giulietta, andere giù per il droghiere e oyhenere un chilo di carote, io sarò qui per tutte le età."

Giulietta Berni took the silver shilling from her mother’s hand and then headed off towards the grocer.

The boys had no luck with cigarette packets and little chance with cordial bottles.

'Now why would anyone deliberately leave behind an empty bottle worth tuppence?' thought Warren.

Silly Jeffery was always a dreamer.'

The Mayfield Pictures Saturday Matinee would be opening right at 11:00 am and already a queue of children wound all the way back from the cashier past the newsagent and up to the Chemist.

Warren knew enough faces to know when to walk fast if required, yes there was always a certain someone, some enemy about that could be dangerous.

Eleven pence would get you inside, and for that you got two serials, a travelogue and finally a cowboy movie. All out of his reach … as always.

In a hurry ... and moving right past this long line of children came this girl! This ‘wog’ girl with black hair and … and she already had two bumps on her chest … and such amazing eyes … and she just walked right past … staring straight ahead … walked straight past … as if she was on rails …

"Warren, where are you going? We just looked along there!" Jeffery just lost him … Warren had suddenly vanished into the crowd … and just gone off without saying a word.

Sweaty shoppers were everywhere and offered Warren cover, that girl he was stalking with the long black hair had entered the green grocer and now waited in line.

Warren had his eyes full of her, and why? . . . He’d no idea?

It was all a bit magical … a bit like a spell perhaps like in a fairy story … something so new and so ambitious and a hell of a lot better than hunting for frogs.

This girl began to fidget, the people, yes all these people around her were making her nervous and then — a silver shilling — fell down between her legs and — rolled across the floor — and kept on rolling and rolling — then ‘snap!" Warren’s shoe had stamped it to a stop!

He bent down … picked it up then . . . walked across to this pair of anxious eyes — and placed it back onto her dainty white hand.

"Grazie."

Warren Bridges had no idea what that meant, but all he wanted to do was stand ever closer and ... steal some of her strange smell.

And what do you want Lovie? The greengrocer interrupted a dream.

"My mother wants some carrots … carote per le cottura."

Well there’re thruppence a bunch and please speak English in my shop.

"Due mazzie, I mean two bunches please."

For one fascinated young boy, this simple purchase had now entered into the realms of the exotic.

Warren, what are you doing here? It was Jeffrey. Look I’ve found a bottle and it’s a Coke bottle worth tuppence, see no chips and we can get two fried potato scallops at the fish shop with that.

Warren turned to face Jeffery, and then turned back … to see what that beautiful girl was doing … but … she’d gone.

Vanished!

**********(1)**********

Mum, what do you know about Italian people, like where do you go to meet them?

Warren’s mother stopped turning the washing over in the copper, wiped her brow, and then rested the washing pole against the tubs.

What on earth are you on about?

Italians Mum, where can I find some Italians?

"So you want to collect Italians now do you? Well I don’t know if they would like that.

Ask your father when he gets home, and have you mowed the front lawn yet?"

**********(1)**********

What High School do you think you’re going to next year Warren? Sammy Carmichael and Warren Bridges were on speaking terms again.

"Stuffed if I know, probably end up at Broadmeadow or Junior High. Dad wants me to get into Newcastle Boy’s High and that would be a lot closer from home," replied Warren.

"It will all depend on that aptitude test and … anyway what do you want to do later," asked Sammy?

Dad wants me to start an apprenticeship at the BHP, and that’s three years away. What are they going to do with you Sammy? queried Warren.

Probably work with Dad at his garage, serving petrol and perhaps doing the odd oil change. Look here come’s the headmaster with the bell so play-lunch is over already; and another thing Warren, Dad says he doesn’t want you to talk to my sister ever again.

"Oh not again, like who is your sister anyway Sammy, Miss Mayfield, or perhaps Princess of the petrol station … or something? Look Sammy I know of a girl that makes your getting-so-fat-sister look so second rate … so go and tell that to your stupid stuck-up-father ... for all I care…"

I’ll have you after school for that Bridges, so help me I will!

"And I’ll flatten you again Carmichael … just like I did last week … and last month … so why bother."

"Well! Just look at you, shirt pocket ripped and skin off your knee and a split lip. So who was it this time