Exclusive: Louis de Bernières' seasonal tale of a princess's quest for true love

Reserve the comfiest chair in your house, pour a warming glass of mulled wine and dissolve into this seasonal tale of perfect princes, fairy godfathers, white tights and tutus, written exclusively for The Independent On Sunday by Louis de Bernières, author of the bestselling 'Captain Corelli's Mandolin'

(ILLUSTRATIONS BY JILLIAN TAMAKI)

Once upon a time there was a Princess with fake red hair. The reason for having the fake red hair is not entirely clear, and let me say straight away that I do not mean that she wore a wig, like the late lamented Virgin Queen; I mean that she dyed it red on a regular basis, and did such a good job of it that, although few women were deceived by it, most men were, only to experience mild surprise upon becoming more intimate with her.

The Princess was of the modern, metropolitan variety, and inhabited a modest palace in an otherwise uncelebrated quarter of the capital city. In the audience chamber she received flattery and vows of eternal devotion from her many courtiers, and in her private chambers she assessed their suitability. A modern Princess she may have been, but she was old-fashioned in the sense that she was searching for True Love At Last.

As everyone knows, looking for True Love At Last is not a simple matter. Blessed and very few are those who marry their childhood sweethearts and would never think of looking anywhere else for the rest of their lives. Blessed are those who get drunk and spend the night with someone who turns out to be ideal forever. Blessed are those who get bundled unwillingly into marriage by their relatives, only to find that a lifetime of contentment unrolls like a red carpet before them. The Princess spent many hours gazing out of her palace windows down at the bustle of the street, wondering if somewhere, amid all the hurly-burly, a Perfect Prince might be looking for True Love At Last, as she was.

Looking for the Perfect Prince was very like going out shopping to buy presents at Christmas when you haven't got a list. One drifts from shop to shop, hoping that this will give rise to good ideas. One looks in old, familiar places, haunts where one might have succeeded before, places that still hang heavy with the perfume of nostalgia and regret.

Christmas was indeed approaching, and so the Princess went to all the sparkling Christmas parties to which she had been invited, and even decided to have a party of her ' own in one of the family's castles. She looked in the Harpo Club in Sleek Street, and she looked in the taverns and restaurants of Grislington and Sherlot Street. She looked in a park where something interesting happened not very long ago, after dark, and she travelled to festivals and carnivals in faraway places. She kissed many princes who turned out to be frogs, and she avoided kissing frogs altogether because she was not naïve enough to believe that they would transmogrify into princes.

On the afternoon before her own Christmas party the Princess was sitting by her window, looking out over the street, and sighing. The sound of carols drifted up from the public-address systems of the shops, a robin fluffed up his chest in the holly bush, and gentle flakes of snow were falling seasonably out of the sky and turning into brown slush. She was so full of yearning that she began to speak aloud. "I wish..." She said, "O I wish..."

"Well, what do you wish for?" asked a stern voice behind her.

"True Love At Last," she replied, so full of yearning and longing that she entirely failed to be surprised." The Perfect Prince," she added.

"Well, I am your Fairy Godfather," said the voice, "and I have come to make all your wishes come true."

The Princess turned her head and beheld the very strangest Fairy Godfather. He wore the requisite white tights and tutu, he had a glittery tiara upon his head, and in his right hand he bore a silver wand with a silver star at the tip. When he waved it, little tinkly sparkles appeared briefly in the air.

In other respects the Fairy Godfather was a little unusual, in that he was bald and slightly paunchy, a little bleary-eyed, and had three days' stubble. His face was kindly, however, and he smelled pleasantly of vanilla and cinnamon.

"I am Princess Catherine of the House of Clarinetti- Gottabug-Botha," said the Princess, extending her hand for him to kiss it.

"I know you are," he said, a little impatiently, "I am your Fairy Godfather. I understand from your sighs that you are seeking True Love At Last."

"Oh," she said, "if only you could grant it! I don't believe that even you can help me. I've been looking for such a long time. How many more times can I celebrate my 29th birthday? It's become a public joke."

The Fairy Godfather waved his wand three times, and said, "Tezek." Immediately, a row of six men appeared in front of the Princess, not in reality, but as images in the very large gilded mirror that covered one entire wall of the room. "Take a look at these," said the Fairy Godfather. "You could give yourself one for Christmas."

"This first one is very handsome, and he is absolutely tireless and superb in bed."

"Does he want children?" asked the Princess.

"No, but you could probably win him round eventually. This next one is a bit old for you, but he is very loving and he is an exceptionally good cook. He does want children."

"Is he fond of literature?"

"More of a music man, really. He loves Beethoven."

"Oh dear," said the Princess, "I fear he would make me feel rather philistine."

"This one," said the Fairy Godfather, indicating the next, "is a good solid type of no particular brilliance, but he is completely faithful, reliable and loving. He likes children, and he works hard."

"He's got blue eyes," said the Princess. "I've always found blue eyes a bit spooky. Don't know why."

"The fourth one," said the Fairy Godfather, "is genuine royalty. He is a prince of Montenegro, but his family has no lands or money any more. He knows how to fence, he speaks four Balkan languages and his personal charm is practically infinite."

"He doesn't look like the faithful type," observed the Princess. "I didn't think that was important," replied the Fairy. "Neither are you."

"Well, I want someone I can be faithful to, without every regretting it or thinking about anyone else. I am sure I could be faithful, given the right man."

"I see," said the Fairy, dryly. "Well, the next one is the faithful type. He isn't particularly horny anyway, if you'll excuse the expression, so he lacks the motivation. He is exceedingly rich and good-natured, though, and he shares your interest in ballet."

"Hmm," said the Princess noncommittally.

"This fifth one," said the Fairy Godfather, "has everything to recommend him, except that he doesn't speak any of the languages that you do. It would be almost impossible to fall out with him. If you are seeking a harmonious existence, you couldn't do better."

"What about the sixth one?" said the Princess.

"Young and handsome, as you see. He would be perfect for you, except that he has lowly origins and a very strong regional accent. Your subjects may consider him to be beneath you. How important is the esteem of your subjects?"

The Princess avoided the question. "I want the Perfect Prince, though. I want my One True Love For Life. Why have you shown me six?"

"By 'Perfect', do you actually mean 'perfect' or 'as good as I can possibly hope for in the circumstances'?" asked the Fairy Godfather.

Not wishing to appear stupid, the Princess also avoided this question. "How can I get to meet these people?" She asked. "It's pointless just looking at them in a kind of mirage."

The Fairy Godfather waved his wand, and said "Tezek Tashaklar!" whereupon Princess Catherine found herself clothed in the most fabulous white dress, sewn with genuine diamonds . Her fake red hair was piled high, and glimmering with hatpins set with rubies. She looked down at her feet, and said, "These are lovely, but they're not made of glass." The Fairy Godfather sighed. "Look out of the window," he said. '

The Princess did as he said. "Tezek Tashaklar Geryuz," said the Fairy Godfather, waving his wand, and Princess Catherine watched as her old black Daimler slowly metamorphosed into a brilliant white Rolls-Royce, with hubcaps and Spirit of Ecstasy in pure gold.

"I assume you have a chauffeur?" asked the Fairy, and the Princess nodded.

"No point in finding a rat, then," said the Fairy.

"What's going to happen?" asked the Princess.

"Well, you are going to the Christmas Ball at the castle, and every one of these men will be there. Each one is perfect for you in his own way, and I suggest that you choose whichever you fancy the most."

She clapped her hands together. "How can I ever thank you?" she asked, rhetorically.

Princess Catherine had a wonderful time at the ball, from the moment that the door of her car was opened by a footman, to the moment when she heard the clock strike 12 and noticed that nothing had turned back into its original form. Her fake red hair remained piled up on her head, the diamonds in her dress did not turn into sequins, and her Rolls-Royce outside remained a Rolls-Royce. She danced with each of her suitors in turn, noticing how well they moved, and how sweet their sweet nothings were. They were all wonderful; not one of them said or did anything awkward, expressed unacceptable opinions or suffered from halitosis. It was all too good to be true. She arranged to have dinner with each one of them on consecutive days of the following week, and returned to her little palace brimming with optimism and good humour.

She dined out each night as planned, and, all other things being equal, chose the Prince of Montenegro, because a Princess really needs a husband with whom she can feel herself to be his equal. He was a true gentleman, and indeed, as time passed, she wondered whether he was ever going to get round to making any salacious and improper suggestions. She began to suspect that he did not love her as much as he professed. On Christmas Eve, however, he went down on one knee, proffered her the white rose from his lapel, and proposed marriage in the corridor outside her bedroom, so that very soon they were in it. Having consumated their passion, they stood naked, hand in hand at the window, watching as once again the gentle snowflakes fell, and turned into brown slush on the pavement. She turned to him and said "It's so romantic, isn't it darling?" to which he replied, "When we are married, every night will be like this, even in summer."

"Oh darling," she said.

"By the way," he said, "what colour is your hair really? Mouse, I presume?"

In the new year they were married in a joint ceremony by a registrar and a Serbian Orthodox priest, and immediately set off on honeymoon in her immaculate white Rolls-Royce. They were going to drive to Arcachon, because he had expressed an irresistible desire to eat oysters and then make love to her three times by moonlight on top of the biggest sand dune in Europe, even though it was midwinter.

The night after accomplishing this prodigious amorous feat, they went to Bordeaux to enjoy the luxury of making love in a nice warm hotel without sand in the sheets, and it was when the Princess was visiting the bathroom in the middle of the night that her Fairy Godfather suddenly reappeared in a shower of silvery sparkles.

"You could have waited," she said crossly. "I haven't even finished yet."

"How's it going?" he said.

"I can't tell you how lovely it is," she said. "I'm so grateful."

"Have you found True Love At Last?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Have you found the Perfect Prince?" and she nodded again.

"What about Eternal Love?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Well, I did mean to tell you something. I am really quite sorry I forgot."

She raised her eyebrows quizzically, and he continued "Well, do you know that story about The Twenty-Four Hour Laundry? No? Well, a man goes into The Twenty-Four Hour Laundry, and hands over his washing, and says, 'I'll come back for it tomorrow.' The laundryman looks at him and says, 'It won't be ready by then. Come back next week.' The man says, 'But I thought this was The Twenty-Four Hour Laundry!' whereupon the proprietor replies, 'But that's only the name.'"

"I don't follow you," said Princess Catherine.

"It's to do with the mismatch between the nomenclature of love and the real passage of time," replied the Fairy Godfather. "True Love At Last actually lasts about six months, and the Perfect Prince remains perfect for about eight months."

The Princess went pale. "And what about Eternal Love?"

The Fairy Godfather stroked his stubble. "Eternal Love? Well, that's about three years."

"I am sure you're wrong," said the Princess. "I have definitely found Eternal Love, True Love At Last and the Perfect Prince."

"Even if you add them consecutively, rather than run them concurrently, it only comes to four years and two months," said the Fairy. "You're totally wrong," she said vehemently. "I absolutely know that you're wrong."

"Well, at least it proves you're in love," said the Fairy, and he vanished in a new shower of silvery sparkles.

Somewhat disgruntled, the Princess returned to bed, and tried to get to sleep while her husband snored gently beside her. Until now she had found his tentative snoring very loveable. It had made her heart well up with maternal affection. But on this occasion, as she thought angrily about the stupid things that the Fairy had just said, she was beginning to find it deeply annoying.

'Notwithstanding: Stories From an English Village' by Louis de Bernières is out now (Harvill Secker, £12.99)