Seated on the other side of the table, Patrick Mavros exudes an aura of the African savanna, as if he just strode from the golden sands of his native Zimbabwe, straight into the posh dining room of New York City’s Club Macanudo. He wears a chocolatebrown safari jacket over a white linen shirt, slate trousers with reinforced seams and is crowned by a custom, broad-brimmed hat that has a guinea-fowl feather—a keepsake from his wife, Catja—protruding from its band. He appears to be more of a seasoned biggame hunter, ripped from the pages of a Hemingway story, than the preeminent master silversmith to the world’s aristocracy. As it turns out, he’s both, as well as many other things, including raconteur, polio survivor, retired baker, conservationist and a former member of…