The bishop entered and Fiona tried to focus on what he was saying. Were those accolades coming from his lips?! Obviously he did not know that Willoughby was a disingenuous, manipulative schemer. He lied to co-workers, the ladies and clients. He doctored the books, and took all-expense-paid so-called business trips that were really for his own pleasure. He showed no hesitation when ‘walking’ over a fellow employee, or anybody else for that matter, to advance his personal goals. He was a schmoozer, a wheeler-dealer bar none. He could talk the hair off a dog. A real con man. Having said that, Fiona acknowledge that he had brought the highest number of clients to the firm, and that was why he was the CEO’s favoured employee.
The service was finally over and Fiona joined the others as they left the cathedral to find their way to the wake’s location, which turned out to be at the best golf club. Walking in, Fiona noticed that all had been beautifully prepared. Flowers were everywhere and harp music graced their ears. A sumptuous buffet had been laid out and there was a fully stocked bar - all paid for by Willoughby. Or was it paid for with company funds siphoned off into so-called charitable donations? Fiona would be checking into that!
A couple of stiff drinks on old Willoughby fortified Fiona for tributes to be offered in the old boy's memory. What a farce that would be. A hush fell over the group as the CEO stood to offer a toast. He said a few kind words about the marketing abilities of Willoughby and the prosperity he had brought the company. He then passed the mike to John who would have preferred to melt into the floor. John and Willoughby were enemies. Rather than 'speak ill of the dead', John lied as best he could and then… oh curses---John spied Fiona and announced that she would say a few words.
“NO NO NO!”Fiona softly wheezed as her fellow employees stared at her in disbelief and anticipation. Somebody whispered loudly, "This will be good!" Blast-it-all. "Damn, damn, damn," cringed Fiona.
She took the mike and slowly, very slowly, cleared her throat. Stalling, she wracked her brain for something nice to say about old Willoughby. She drew an utter blank. She looked around, hoping to find inspiration. Nothing. Being somewhat inebriated, she finally tossed caution to the wind, opened her mouth and let words fall out. She greeted the audience and acknowledged that, despite what their personal feelings might be, they came as requested by, out of respect for, the Company and CEO. Many nodded in agreement. Encouraged, she went on to mention that she had known Willoughby most of her life and quite frankly, never really trusted him at all. Her marriage to him re-enforced this assumption. In her opinion, his sole purpose in life was total self-gratification at all costs. Fiona added that she was glad the bastard was lying in the coffin, dead as a bloody doorknob.
She heard a gasp followed by a suppressed snicker. Then soft laughter. One brave soul clapped-she thought it might have been her former friend, the one who had replaced her as Willoughby's wife. Another person joined in the clapping and another and another until it built to a thunderous applause.
“The last laugh is on you, Willoughby!”
