Patrizia di Carrobio, Diamond Contessa

Some people you meet. Others you find again. Patrizia di Carrobio and I may have crossed paths as teenagers in Brussels, where our mothers were neighbors at the Square du Bois, just off the Avenue Louise. Years later, one word in an email brought us together in New York: diamonds. This is the story of a contessa, a former Christie’s auctioneer, and the most beautiful safe I have ever opened.

An Evening Uptown

The invitation was for an evening of women at her Upper East Side apartment, to celebrate the Italian launch of her book, Diamanti. I put on my South Sea pearls and went, empty-handed and a little curious.

A prewar building, high ceilings, contemporary art under bright light. A Christmas tree, small bouquets of roses in glass, champagne. A tango couple danced to the sound of a bandoneón. Patrizia greeted every guest, talking with her hands, very Italian, and still every inch a contessa. Her great-great-grandfather, Isacco Sacerdoti, Conte di Carrobio, was banker to the Duke of Modena. It shows.

A Manifesto in Red Ribbon

At the door, she handed me a small paper scroll tied with red satin. Its title: I Promise Myself. At home, glasses on, I read it with a cup of tea. To be so strong that nothing can disturb my peace of mind. To look at the sunny side of everything. To forget the mistakes of the past.

I almost posted it on Facebook. Then I stopped. This was not my manifesto. It was hers. So I called her and invited her to lunch.

Lunch at Rouge Tomate

We met at Rouge Tomate, on 60th and Fifth. Under her sleeve, a gold snake bracelet wound around her wrist, its head set with marquise diamonds. Bulgari, surely. Too soon to ask.

Over an asparagus terrine, she told me about two marriages, two friendly separations, and a life spent learning to trust. Young and in a position of power, she says, she attacked out of fear of being attacked. Then she discovered what she calls trusting the universe. Even a bad day, she believes, carries something good inside it.

By dessert, we had covered Kabbalah, ex-husbands and our missions in life. Then I asked. Yes, Bulgari. When she heard that my father spent fifty years as a diamond dealer, from Antwerp to the mines of the Belgian Congo, she invited me to her office. I had one question. Could I bring my camera?

Inside the District

New York’s Diamond District is one block of West 47th Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. Most of the diamonds that enter the United States pass through it. Many deals still close with a handshake and two words, mazel und brucha. Above the shop windows, the real business happens in offices behind double doors.

Patrizia has worked here for more than thirty years, one of very few women in a world of men. Her office is in a fine Art Deco building. Two security doors open, one after the other. And I am a child again in Monrovia, close to the mines, standing by my father’s heavy safe. Do not touch anything.

The Safe

Patrizia, in a wool sweater, taupe corduroys and long strands of platinum and tiny diamonds, was on the phone. She pointed to an open safe in the corner. Make yourself at home.

For an hour, I photographed an Ali Baba cave. Pins, brooches, rings and earrings, nineteenth-century pill boxes and perfume bottles, pieces signed Cartier, Tiffany, Van Cleef & Arpels, Bulgari and JAR. Much of it is her own collection, gathered during her years as one of the first women auctioneers at Christie’s in London and New York. In 1989, she brought in a record $30 million sale for its North American jewelry department. “Pure luck, I guess,” she says.

Style runs in the family. Her grandmother, Contessa Gabriella Nicolis di Robilant, advised Americans in Paris on fashion, and shared an apartment with Elsa Schiaparelli. “E questo non lo vuoi?” Patrizia kept asking, bringing out one more treasure. Don’t you want this one too?

The Emerald

Then my camera battery died. Patrizia would not hear of me leaving. The best, she said, was yet to come. So I took a taxi through the snow, came back with fresh batteries, and followed her to her partner’s office nearby.

There, among jewelers with loupes and stacks of vintage boxes, I tried on pieces from the 1920s, ’40s and ’50s. This is where brides, mothers and devoted husbands come for advice. Whether the budget is $500 or $5 million, Patrizia treats everyone the same. Her real pleasure is making someone happy.

The funny part? Two husbands and a lifelong passion for stones, and she has never received an engagement ring.

Last came a white leather box with Cartier in gold. Inside, the largest Colombian emerald I have ever seen, a pure cabochon set in platinum. I could already hear my father: “Very rare, Joelle chérie. Where did you find this treasure?” At the Square du Bois, Dad. Remember?

What I Take Home

Jewelry taught me to see rooms. A strong stone needs space around it, and so does a bold piece of furniture. Old and new look best together: a 1950s brooch on a cashmere sweater, a vintage box on a modern table. And light is everything. Patrizia laid her treasures on black velvet by the window, with nothing but the snow light. Studio Joelle designs homes the same way: one treasure, well lit, never crowded.

Website: Patrizia di Carrobio, jewelry consultant, New York

The book: Diamonds: The First Steps to Forever, by Patrizia di Carrobio

Style: Elsa Schiaparelli

Studio Joelle: Start a project

Photography: Joelle Maslaton Oster; portrait, Pucci Scafidi; family photo, courtesy of Orietta Carrobio