Fashion Heiress Patricia Gucci on Uncovering Her Family Secrets

The author of ‘In the Name of Gucci: A Memoir’ reflects on growing up in London and her mother’s anxious life as Aldo Gucci’s mistress

Patricia Gucci at her home near Palm Desert, Calif. PHOTO: JOE SCHMELZER FOR THE WALL STREET JOURNAL

Patricia Gucci, 53, is the daughter of Bruna Palombo and Aldo Gucci, the late chairman of the fashion company. She is author of “In the Name of Gucci: A Memoir” (Crown Archetype). She spoke with Marc Myers.

My mother was an innocent. In the mid-1950s, she went to work at the Gucci shop in Rome as a sales clerk. Spotted by owner Aldo Gucci, she became his secretary. He pursued her, and in 1958, at 21, she became his mistress. She was young enough to be his daughter, but she fell in love with him and remained at his side for more than 30 years, holding his hand in his final hour, in 1990.

During the 1950s, Aldo Gucci was a whirlwind of energy, constantly traveling and expanding his retail empire to other European cities and to America. My mother, Bruna, was stunning and even today remains a pure beauty.

Her love for my father was from the heart, but she was torn about what they were doing. She had to break off an engagement with someone else, and Italian law at the time forbade her from having a child out of wedlock. Her secretive life left her with enormous guilt and anxiety.

As for my father, my mother was hardly a dalliance. He fell deeply in love with her. She was his life and he was hers.

Ms. Gucci in Rome in 1965 with her parents, Aldo and Bruna. PHOTO: PATRICIA GUCCI

When my mother became pregnant with me in 1962, my father moved her into a small apartment in London to spare her the unwanted attention in Rome. I was born the following year, and when the apartment became tight, he bought us a Tudor-style house in Hendon, outside the city.

After I turned 6, we moved to the countryside near Windsor. It was a three-floor manor house set on 5 acres of beautiful grounds. I climbed trees and had a happy existence. I remember my father visiting us at least once a month for long weekends. But communication in the 1960s was difficult. There was the occasional phone call, although it was hard to get a clear line, and air travel was not what it is today. There also was the odd telegram, but for my mother, there was a lot of waiting and not knowing.

As a result, my mother was constantly worried about what would become of us and could never enjoy the moment. She didn’t have the wherewithal to see things objectively and often kept to herself.

By the time I was 7, my mother had started to travel more with my father. She put me in boarding school, where I loved being with my schoolmates. When I went home on the occasional weekend, only my nanny would be there. I was often alone, but I never felt lonely. I loved books.

One day, when I was 9, my mother asked me to sit on her bed. She said we were moving back to Rome. She also said that while she and my father were in love, they weren’t married. He was married to someone else in Rome, and I had three half-brothers. I was excited to be part of a larger family.

In Rome, everything was different, and my mother and I didn’t get along. I resented being pulled away from my friends in England.

In my teens, music and boys were all I cared about, and my mother became increasingly withdrawn. Before long I was off to boarding school in Switzerland.

Ms. Gucci’s 10-bedroom home near Palm Desert, Calif. PHOTO: JOE SCHMELZER FOR THE WALL STREET JOURNAL

Of all the houses my family lived in, my fondest memories are of the one in Palm Beach in the 1970s. My father loved the Florida sunshine, and when the oceanfront villa came on the market in ’73, he snapped it up. My mother loved it there, too. It was where we were happiest as a family.

Today, I divide my time between a home in Geneva and one near Palm Desert, Calif. I bought the desert property in 1993 and renovated it to accommodate my three daughters. It’s a 10-bedroom home with Moroccan influences and a 360-degree view of horizons. When I’m there, I feel as if I’m in the middle of nowhere. It’s a spiritual place.

My mother now lives in her apartment in Rome. During one of my visits there in 2010, I asked her about her past with my father. She was ready to talk and even shared her love letters. After, our relationship improved dramatically. I was better able to appreciate what she had been through, and I think she felt the same about me. Now we speak every day by phone.

Looking back, I regret that we wasted so many years on misunderstandings and disagreements. Now when I talk to her, she’s much more relaxed. I’m the center of her life and she’s the mamma I always longed for.

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