Newspaper feature about the mansion.
The launch of Mr Feingold’s new venture was front page news.
Romance and shopping flourish at Feingold’s mansion
Tay Feingold’s dream of converting a Scottish mansion into a wonderful shopping experience filled with boutique shops has become a reality.
The property developer purchased the long–abandoned mansion that has a history of romance attached to it. Due to its association with the nearby lovers’ lane where ancient faerie magic is alleged to have brought many couples together, Feingold’s mansion is enjoying a reawakening in love — and shopping.
While romances appears to be flourishing at the mansion for both shop owners and customers, Feingold has plans to further increase his share of the market and develop other shopping ventures including the new Chateau of Dreams in Edinburgh due to launch this spring.
Meanwhile, the official launch of the mansion took place in December with every available boutique occupied by an outstanding selection of shops. From fashion to cakes, chocolate to wedding gowns, books to art, jewellery, cosmetics, shoes, handbags, a preloved clothes boutique, a bespoke tailor, computer shop, 1940s tearoom, cafe and coffee shop, the mansion caters for all shopping tastes.
And it’s due to expand with the opening of a bar/restaurant in the mansion’s cellars in February. Shoppers will be able to enjoy wining, dining and dancing the night away. Run by successful bar and nightclub owner, Montroce Wallace.
Built on three levels, the mansion’s library became part of the bookshop. Original features such as the glass atrium and sweeping staircase are part of the central walkway, and some of the fireplaces have been retained.
Against the grain of the recession, the shops have benefited from an increase in trade recently. Rain, hail and snowstorms haven’t stopped shoppers from flocking to the mansion. The winter sales are thriving and anyone looking for a great bargain is sure to find it there. And there is the gossip that women are going there to shop for men.
If you’ve found romance at the mansion, or picked up a man in the sales, drop the editor, Brodie, a line here at the newspaper and we’ll feature your story.
The feature went on to name some of the businesses:
Feingold has brought new trade to the town and being only an hour’s drive from Glasgow, the mansion has become a popular venue for city shoppers too.
Jaec Midwinter the master chocolatier specialises in handmade chocolates and chocolates cakes.
A recent addition to the mansion is Erith who opened her designer cake shop selling a wide range of own–baked cakes decorated with her stylish designs. Ideal for a shopping treat.
Charmaine’s bookshop has brought a literary element to the mansion, while anyone planning a wedding should pop into White Ribbons bridal boutique run by Seren.
Fashions galore are available from Angeline’s high fashion boutique, or for those who prefer classic clothes there is a fairytale tea dress shop and preloved fashions, along with various other clothes shops. Or if you’re a dab hand with a needle and thread, check out Myrid’s sewing boutique, bursting at the seams with threads and fabrics. There’s something for everyone at the new shopping mansion. Pop along and see for yourself.
Open early until late, customers are welcomed to a wonderful shopping experience where romance and hope are merged with high heels and fashion.
Midwinter, the master chocolatier, stood at the entrance of the magnificent mansion looking out at the wintry evening. Barely five o’clock and the late January sky was overcast and sprinkling snow across the landscape.
A cold wind blew through his sexy dark hair and the paleness of his skin emphasised the richness of its colour. The winter light deepened the blue of his fabulous eyes, one of the most outstanding things about Jaec Midwinter — blue eyes with long dark lashes, set within a handsome face; a classic man in his early thirties.
For a moment, he thought he saw a beautiful young woman dressed in a long beige velvet cloak in the distance, walking through the deep snow across the car park beyond the shadow of the silver birch and white maple trees.
The hem of her satin–lined cloak brushed away her footprints as she walked towards the mansion, wiping away the evidence of her existence. Waist–length blonde hair spiralled down from the hood of her cloak, merging with the cream silk ribbons securing the collar. Her delicate face was the most beautiful Midwinter had ever seen. A face filled with deep sadness.
He blinked against the flakes of snow, and she was gone. A figment of his imagination? Few women in this era wore velvet cloaks. He blamed the illusion on overwork. Overtired from months of constant hard work building his chocolatier’s shop, making it one of the most popular within the mansion’s boutiques. He needed to unwind and relax, though how could he do this when his mind kept dwelling on thoughts of romance and possession? Especially the latter.
Charmaine who owned the bookshop had become the woman in his life. He’d had few of those. Women he cared about rather than merely lusted after. In his business plan he hadn’t allocated a gap for such a thing as love, and it had caught him unawares. Over Christmas and New Year he’d let his guard down further, opening his heart to Charmaine who was one of the loveliest women he’d ever encountered. She was kind and caring, which made it all the more difficult to draw back and view their new relationship within the context necessary to allow him to focus on being a master chocolatier, which itself required every element of his time.
He’d left no space for Charmaine, and yet here she was, smiling at him every day, popping in from her bookshop along from his chocolaterie, kissing him each morning before they both opened their businesses to customers. They enjoyed long, lustful nights at his house and at hers in Glasgow, though after the passion, neither had slept the night together. No matter how late the hour, he’d driven her home, or driven back to his house near the mansion, within the large town, which was about an hour’s drive from the city.
Although his heart felt at ease with her, he could also feel her possession sweeping around him — the one thing he never wanted. Possession only felt right when it was in his control. Possession pulled the breath from out of him. It weakened him. He’d always avoided it, and one more thing — jealousy. He’d seen the sparks, the emerald flames within the blue of her eyes, a blue that matched his own. Charmaine was jealous of the attention he received from other women who came to his shop to buy his chocolates and to flirt with him. Erith had been right when she’d remarked that women fawned over him and although he didn’t invite their flattery he didn’t discourage it either.
Yes, Erith had been right. And now she was gone. Off on a two week trip to Paris with the new love of her life, Adam, owner of the mansion’s art shop. He hadn’t seen that relationship coming. Entranced by Erith himself, he wasn’t sure if he wished things had been different, and it would’ve been Erith in his life and not Charmaine.
He shook the thought of this away. Loyalty was everything. He couldn’t think of Erith that way while involved with Charmaine. When everything else was done, loyalty was the last flame of hope. He would walk away from Charmaine before betraying her with thoughts of what might have been with Erith.
Though if Charmaine’s flashes of jealousy continued, along with the sense of possession he felt creep up on him, he may walk away anyway.
He looked again at the snow fluttering down from the deep grey Scottish sky, and then went back inside the mansion. The original crystal chandeliers glistened under the glass atrium in the heart of the central walkway that was busy with shoppers. A sweeping staircase was bordered on either side by glass lifts taking shoppers up and down to all three floors. Many enjoyed using the stairs, especially on their way down, their imaginations picturing what it must have been like to wear an evening gown and bejewelled necklace and sweep down the stairs to dinner in the grand hall in olden times. The wooden balustrade was carved and polished, the spars entwined with metal flowers. In the past hundred years many hands had brushed against it, and now that the mansion had been revived and full of life again, many more had the chance to do so.
He saw Erith’s shop, diagonally opposite his, on the ground floor near the front entrance of the mansion. Her designer cake shop was closed, the window shielded by a white paper blind embellished with silver snowflakes, something he’d seen Adam making for her from the craft paper in his art shop. She’d be back. He wasn’t sure if he missed Erith. He wasn’t sure he didn’t. But he missed the familiarity of seeing her baking and icing cakes in her shop, and the window displays she created on a daily basis that intrigued him.
Pushing thoughts of Erith from his mind, he checked his window display. A stray piece of tinsel shone amid the chocolate truffle presentation, the last remnant of Christmas. He appreciated Christmas, but he was glad it was finished. January always gave him a feeling of excitement. A new year ahead, a fresh start. He thrived on that.
Almost a month had passed since they’d celebrated Hogmanay at the mansion. It seemed but a moment ago. An indication that time had forged ahead taking him with it without him realising how quickly it had gone. He still hadn’t perfected the new recipes for his chocolate fondants. He’d work on that tonight.
He was about to step inside his shop when the entrance doors of the mansion flew open.
A howling wind blew in from outside, unusual in its strength, sending shivers through him of…Midwinter wasn’t sure. A new beginning? A haunting past?
He went into his shop and turned the heat on under the bain–marie, the shiny double pan he used to gently melt the chocolate. It was filled with delicious flavoured dark chocolate that was part of his latest creations. A taste of Midwinter with a hint of spring.
He had already crafted wild roses made of chocolate for his new collection, sensing that wild abandon and spring splendour would appeal to lovers of chocolate and those who simply wanted to experience the blend of flavours within the depths of his sweets and cakes.
While he was busy tempering the chocolate, a woman in her mid–thirties came into Midwinter’s shop wearing a brown dress that matched the colour of her upswept hair and her eyes. It was now around 6 p.m. He knew she owned the wedding shop on the top level of the mansion opposite the fashion cafe. He knew she was Welsh and that her name was Seren. He knew no more, no less.
He’d overheard these snippets from Hazel in handbags when she was chatting in the fashion cafe on the top floor. He preferred the 1940s tearoom on the ground level near his shop, but occasionally he ventured up to the bright, modern cafe where the sprinkles on the cakes always sparkled like stars. He wondered what type of sugar they used to create the effect. The last time he’d been up there he’d intended asking them but that troublesome minx, Angeline, had spied him from her high fashion boutique next door to the cafe and he’d scarpered rather than become embroiled in yet another of her ruses to entangle their supposed pasts together.
Angeline had made that stolen kiss under the mistletoe, the one she’d stolen, not him, spin longer and faster than any yarn he’d ever known. By all accounts, she’d sullied his character and sprinkled gossip throughout the mansion, whispering that she’d dumped him and was now after Mr Feingold having found out that Feingold wasn’t a maintenance man at the mansion but in fact the millionaire owner. Midwinter was well off by average standards but he wasn’t in Feingold’s financial league. Not that he envied him. That type of wealth could be exhausting to deal with. He preferred being a few rungs down the ladder, very comfortably off with potential to breathe. He didn’t want Feingold’s responsibility. He was quite happy making his chocolatier sweets and cakes.
‘I own the White Ribbons bridal boutique.’ She breezed in lighter than someone weighed down by a brown ensemble merited. ‘I’ve recommended you to one of my customers. She bought a wedding dress from my shop and we were talking about cakes and she said she wanted a chocolate wedding cake. I mentioned that you made cakes like that, so she’s coming in to see you before she leaves the mansion.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘Seren.’ She extended her hand.
They shook hands.
‘Yes, I know who you are. You’re from Wales, aren’t you?’
She seemed pleased that the much lusted after chocolatier knew who she was. ‘Originally, but I’ve lived in Scotland for years.’
She glanced at the display of chocolates, as most people did when they stepped into the chocolatier’s shop, but had the manners to keep her fingers off them, unlike Angeline and her fashion shop friends who thought that his chocolates were fair game for giggling girls who got away with helping themselves just because they were…silly giggling girls.
‘Help yourself to one of my new truffles or fondants.’
‘They look delicious.’
He lifted up one of the silver trays where his milk and dark chocolates glistened in the warm glow of the shop’s lights. January was almost over, but long cold days lay ahead and his decor, rich in woods, and silver and copper pans, gave a welcoming ambience to the chocolaterie.
Seren deftly lifted up one of the chocolates, a wild rose sculpted on the crescent, and bit into its delicious caramel and fruit layered centre.
‘Mmmm, this is sensational. If I wasn’t on a diet, I’d buy a box just for me.’
Despite most of his customers complaining that they’d overindulged during the festive season, they’d continued to buy his chocolates, wanting to taste the new flavours and textures he’d created for the year ahead.
Midwinter had a tall, leanly muscled physique without any spare fat, encouraging customers to indulge in their love of chocolate. His Scottish accent was edged with an international flavour from his frequent travels abroad in search of new products and to visit countries where he selected the chocolate he used personally. Midwinter made chocolate creations. He didn’t make chocolate. He added and blended the high quality chocolate he purchased, sculpting it and making cakes, sweets, truffles and fondants. A master at his craft. His manner, his stature, bore the hallmark of his ability to make chocolates that tasted like a dream.
Midwinter had a reputation for being standoffish, so having earned a warmer welcome than she’d expected, Seren grabbed the chance to make him an offer.
‘Perhaps you’d like to double up on some spring promotions. I’ll be pushing the spring bridal gowns and accessories at the beginning of February.’ She glanced at his window display. ‘I could loan you a wedding bouquet for your window, a bridal slipper or silk flowers.’
His response was immediate. Seren looked reliable. He was sold on the brown dress and tidy manner. Her suggestion made business sense. ‘Yes, we’ll do that. I’ll loan you a chocolate wedding cake for your window display and give you chocolate bomboniere for your customers.’
‘Great!’ And off she went, feeling lighter than when she’d arrived, even with three of his richest chocolates inside her.
As Seren left, he saw Tay Feingold walk past his window heading out of the mansion. There was a curiosity in his manner, a purpose in his stride. Similar in age, their careers differed greatly, and sometimes Midwinter saw how heavy a burden Feingold carried on his shoulders. Numerous livelihoods depended on him developing something special from next to nothing, like this mansion that he’d converted into a magnificent shopping experience. A fairly young man, early thirties, he frequently flew from Scotland to London on business. Feingold rarely paused and yet he didn’t instil a restlessness within the chocolatier who enjoyed travelling to far off locations himself.
Midwinter acknowledged Feingold’s abilities, ambitions and upstanding character, but he didn’t envy his position. Not at all.
Tay Feingold pulled his expensive wool coat around him as the cold air hit him when he stepped out of the warmth of the mansion. Mr Ferguson the bespoke tailor on the middle floor had recommended the coat. A rich entrepreneur but a builder at the core, clothes were not Feingold’s favourite interest or his forte.
Mr Ferguson had taken it upon himself to advise the younger man on his code of dress, as an uncle or older brother would do in his position. Feingold had no man like that in his corner, and had built up his construction company virtually from scratch after his father died, starting out as a teenager fuelled with grand ideas. He’d worked hard, made lucrative and wise investments that had paid off handsomely. Handsome rewards for the handsome Mr Feingold who didn’t need to dress well to turn the ladies heads. A strapping, tall, fit blond–haired man, he had an element of star quality about him. Mr Ferguson was pleased that his bespoke clothing was enhanced by the man rather than the other way around. He liked Mr Feingold and felt a certain responsibility towards him. Likewise, Feingold had come to depend on Mr Ferguson’s tailoring advice, and an easy understanding existed between them that fitted both men well.
Outside the mansion, snow fell all around, covering the cars in the large car park. Feingold searched for his car, remembering vaguely where he’d left it, near the chestnut trees which were frozen like white brittle.
And then he saw . . .
A woman.
She wore a beige velvet cloak and her long blonde hair had escaped from the voluminous hood of the cloak. Her bag was large and appeared to be heavy, causing her to seem weary, or perhaps it was the delicate face and slender build, an ethereal creature trudging through the snow heading for the sanctuary of the mansion and the trees.
Without hesitation, Feingold walked towards her, knowing she needed assistance. And as he drew nearer her face became familiar. Then he recognised her.
Sylvette was here.
