Once comfortably positioned, Fiona turned and smiled to the people on either side of her, then scanned the seats across the aisle as well as the ones behind. Fiona noticed the odd dabbing of an eye with the lily white handkerchief that had been provided upon entry to the cathedral. No detail was overlooked by Willoughby. Although most faces seemed composed, there were a few people actually blotting their eyes. She wondered if they were acting the part of a grieving associate or she was witnessing genuine grief. Upon further scrutiny Fiona noted that some people looked to be suppressing a smirk or two, and she could have sworn that she actually heard a snicker. She turned to see who it was, but unfortunately a jab from the person sitting next to the transgressor had put a stop to noise before she could figure out who exactly the culprit was. Strangely enough, or was it, Willoughby's few extended family members were not in attendance. Fiona knew them all as Willoughby and she had grown up together and, for one brief moment in history, they were married. She caught the eye of her my co-worker Frank. He was pals with Willoughby and she was surprised he actually looked relieved. That was proving to be interesting, very interesting —smirks, looks of relief, no relatives...
Willoughby’s second wife, albeit temporarily, was in attendance. She had once been Fiona's very dear friend, until Willoughby wandered from their bed to hers. She was looking pretty good —for her age that is. Perhaps she had had a face lift. Her arms, obviously losing their tone, were clinging to some younger, well built, very handsome man. Obviously she had gotten lucky. It couldn't be her son, as she and Willoughby did not have children, nor did Willoughby and Fiona, for that matter. Perhaps Willoughby shot blanks, thought Fiona, and all this time she had been assuming the guilt for their being childless.
Fiona continued to survey the attendees until her attention was suddenly arrested by a very attractive, youngish woman sitting in the first row on the far side pretending to blot her eyes. She barely looked of legal age. Could she have been Willoughby’s latest fling? Is she why his heart gave out? She looked to be the tall, willowy type and was wearing clinging clothes and a ton of makeup. A bit trollop looking in Fiona's opinion. Willoughby always was a silver-tongued stud, and the age of his lady friends was never a barrier. Perhaps Fiona was just being jealous.
The CEO sat two rows in front of her on the other side of the aisle. The company’s latest wannabes flanked his sides. She caught his eye and nodded to him, and he returned the nod. Fiona hope her being there would duly impress him.
Good grief! Now that IS a funny turn of phrase-good grief! Never thought of grief as being good. But holy smokes, there were a couple of young pretty things sitting across from Fiona, near the front. They were trying to look bereaved as they shot hateful darts at each other and the trollop. Was that a hiss Fiona heard coming from one of them? She wondered if Casanova Willoughby, the great philander, led each of them to believe that she was his sole focus. Obviously they did not know that the only Numero Uno in Willoughby’s life was himself. He was always such a slick dick. This whole final farewell thing was getting rather entertaining.
